SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 


SARAH  AND  HER 
DAUGHTER 


BY 

BERTHA  PEARL 


NEW  YORK 

THOMAS  SELTZER 
1920 


Copyright,  1920,  by 
THOMAS  SELTZER,  Imc. 


First    printing    April,    1920 
Second  printing  April,  1920 


Printed  In  the  United  States  of  America 
All  rights  reserved 


BOOK    I 
SARAH 

PART  PAGE 

I    ELIAS 7 

II    THE  CELLAR 133 

III     BANDS .     187 

BOOK   II 

MINNIE 

I     INDEPENDENCE         223 

II    SARAH'S  DAUGHTER 329 


2137621   * 


Dedicated  to 
Henrietta  Szold  and  her  Sister  Adele 


BOOK  I 
SARAH 


PART    I 
ELIAS 


SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

PART  I 
ELIAS 


FROM  the  back  door  of  a  front  tenement  in  New  York's 
East  Side  a  little  girl  came  skipping  into  the  contracted 
square  courtyard  separating  it  from  the  rear  tenement. 
A  small  mongrel  was  worrying  the  end  of  a  rag  in  her 
hand,  and,  for  a  while,  the  two  played  tug-of-war  in 
the  offal-littered  yard.  Presently  a  boy,  somewhat  older 
than  the  girl,  emerged  from  the  rear  tenement. 

"Hello,  Minn!" 

"Hello,  Abie!" 

Abie,  the  helmet  of  his  cap  sitting  rakishly  over  his 
left  ear,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  walked  leisurely  to 
the  middle  of  the  yard.  Minnie  gave  Abie  a  measur- 
ing look,  like  a  player  in  a  game  awaiting  a  decisive  move 
from  his  opponent,  then,  somewhat  self-consciously, 
went  on  pretending  to  tear  the  rag  away  from  Foxy, 
who  worried  it  with  short,  make-believe  vicious  snarls. 

Abie  watched  the  sport. 

"Minn,"  he  said. 

She  held  Foxy  off.    "Wha'  do  you  wan'?" 

"You  wanna  play  grocery?" 

Minnie  looked  at  Abie  shyly. 

"You  wanna?" 

"Yeh." 

"Aw  right." 

Minnie  skipped  to  a  corner  of  the  yard  where  she 

7 


8  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

busied  herself  with  housekeeping  details.  Once  or  twice 
she  ordered  Foxy  to  get  out  of  her  way,  muttering  aloud 
to  herself :  "Childrens  are  such  a  bother  in  a  house 
when  you  got  a  lot  a  work  to  do." 

From  his  many  pockets  Abie  assembled  marbles  to 
be  sold  as  potatoes,  placed  one  piece  of  wood  see-saw 
over  another  for  scales,  and  scraping  up  some  of  the 
plenteous  dirt  put  it  aside  to  be  sold  as  flour,  sugar,  or 
salt.  When  all  was  ready,  he  called  to  Minnie: 

"Now  you  dass  come." 

Minnie  heaved  a  "mama's"  breath,  a  breath  closely 
related  to  a  sigh.  "Here,  Foxy!"  she  called,  and  locked 
an  imaginary  door.  Next  she  hung  an  imaginary  bas- 
ket on  her  arm  and  proceeded  on  a  shopping  expedition 
as  Mrs.  Mira  Cohen,  a  friend  of  her  mother's. 

"Good  morning,"  said  the  groceryman. 

"Good  morning,"  Mrs.  Cohen  replied  tartly.  Mrs. 
Mira  Cohen  was  known  to  be  a  crank.  '"You  got 
sugar  ?" 

"Yeh,  fresh  sugar.  You  wan'  a  pound?"  the  grocery- 
man inquired. 

"No,  a  paper,"  replied  Mrs.  Cohen.  A  "paper,"  in 
the  linguistic  mysteries  of  the  East  Side,  differentiates 
a  bag  of  three  and  a  half  pounds  from  a  bag  of  one 
pound. 

The  groceryman  proceeded  to  weigh  the  sugar.  As 
the  pieces  of  wood  were  too  narrow,  the  scales  proved 
provokingly  incompetent.  After  several  efforts  he  felt 
justified  in  assuming  he  had  weighed  a  "paper."  Not 
so  the  thrifty  Mrs.  Cohen. 

"That  ain't  no  paper,"  said  she  contemptuously. 
"Tain't?     'Tis !"  the  groceryman  contradicted. 

"Uh!     'Tain't!"  repeated  Mrs.  Cohen,  making  a  ges- 


ELIAS  9 

ture  as  if  to  throw  the  sugar  off  the  scales.  The  gro- 
ceryman  laid  a  hand  of  protection  on  his  wares.  A  mo- 
ment's tension,  and  Mrs.  Cohen  said: 

"Wha'  do  you  know?" 

"My  dear  lady,"  rejoined  the  groceryman,  maintain- 
ing his  dignity,  "it's  a  paper."  He  looked  over  Mrs. 
Cohen's  shoulder  at  an  imaginary  customer.  "Wha'  do 
you  wan'?"  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Cohen  had  no  intention  of  yielding;  she  placed 
her  arms  akimbo  and  said  in  a  raised  voice,  stressing 
each  word: 

"That  ain't  no  paper."  Suddenly  Mrs.  Cohen  turned 
into  Minnie  and  added:  "Yeh,  my  papa  kept  a  grocery, 
not  yourn.  7  know." 

The  groceryman  paid  no  attention  to  this  personal 
turn. 

"My  dear  lady,"  he  said,  "wha'  do  you  wan'  I  should 
lose  money  on  you?  That's  a  paper." 

Minnie  turned  into  cranky  Mrs.  Cohen  again. 

"You  can  paper  me  from  to-day  up  till  to-morrow,  that 
ain't  no  paper  by  me." 

The  groceryman  of  the  neighborhood  having  the  repu- 
tation of  being  "independent,"  Abie  saw  fit  to  tell  Mrs. 
Cohen  that  if  she  did  not  like  it,  she  could  lump  it. 
This  roused  Mrs.  Cohen  to  a  corresponding  measure 
of  defiance. 

"I  will !"  she  announced  shrilly,  stamping  her  foot. 
"And  I'll  never  buy  for  another  penny  here  'cause  you're 
a  cheat!" 

Minnie's  acting  was  so  realistic  that  Abie  applied  the 
epithet  to  himself.  Instantly  he  turned  into  the  normal 
boy  and  made  as  if  to  spit  in  her  face.  Thinking  better 
of  it,  however,  he  merely  taunted: 


io  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"Fights!" 

Mrs.  Mira  Cohen  vanished  from  the  yard.  In  her 
stead  stood  an  irresolute,  impotent  little  girl  with  tears 
welling  up  in  gray,  dark-lashed  eyes  too  large  for  her 
thin- featured  face. 

Abie  knew  that  his  vengeance  could  not  have  been 
more  complete  had  he  actually  used  the  last  resort  of 
the  infuriated — had  he  spat  in  her  face.  He  was  glad. 

The  tears  rolled  down  Minnie's  face.  She  dashed 
them  from  her  cheeks  with  the  back  of  her  hand  and 
sucked  them  from  her  upper  lip. 

Stooping,  she  picked  up  Foxy  and  left  the  yard. 

"Fights!"  It  was  a  cruel  wound  to  a  child's  pride 
in  her  family.  Something  vaguely  told  Minnie  that  in 
spite  of  the  sordidness  of  her  home  life,  her  mama  and 
her  papa  were  made  of  finer  material  than  Abie's  mama 
and  papa,  or  Mira  Cohen  and  her  husband.  "Fights !" 
had  not  been  a  reference  to  any  pugnacious  quality  in 
Minnie,  but  to  the  relations  existing  between  her  father 
and  mother. 

Beside  Minnie,  who  was  eight,  the  juvenile  end  of 
the  Mendel  family  comprised  Jacob  aged  ten,  Ida  nearly 
seven,  and  the  baby,  endearingly  called  Bubbele,  aged 
three.  The  authors  of  their  beings  were  two  people 
whose  alliance  was  never  formed  with  heaven's  fore- 
thought ;  if  it  was,  there  is  something  terribly  wrong  with 
heaven. 

Abie's  mother  was  janitress  of  the  twin  tenements. 
When  her  home  duties  interfered  with  her  janitor's 
work,  Abie  helped  her.  Lighting  the  gas  in  the  halls 
was  his  regular  job.  A  few  days  before,  while  perform- 
ing this  duty,  the  thing  had  occurred  which  provoked 
the  taunt  of  "Fights." 


ELI  AS  ii 

Abie,  making  his  way  up  the  dark,  rickety  stairs  of 
the    front   tenement,   stumbled   over   something  on   the 
lowest  step  of  the  fourth  flight.     He  struck  a   match,, 
kindled  his   lighter,   and  beheld   Minnie   Mendel.     She 
was  in  tears  and  looked  much  older  than  her  years. 
"Say!"  said  Abie. 
No  answer. 
"Wot's  a  madder?" 

From  the  floor  above  came  a  woman's  voice  vulgarly 
shrill  and  loud: 

"I  can't  stand  it  any  longer!"  Abie  and  Mmnte 
heard  distinctly.  "I  can't  stand  it  any  longer!  The 
children  go  hungry  and  naked,  and  you  hold  on  to  your 
Sabbath!  I  cannot  stand  it  any  longer." 

Minnie  lay  across  the  step  completely  barring  Abie's 
way. 

"I  gotta  light  the  lights,"  he  said,  "get  out  o'  the 
way." 

Minnie  moved  to  one  side,  and  Abie  proceeded  to 
the  top  floor.  In  the  front  tenement  he  worked  from 
up  down;  in  the  rear  tenement  from  down  up,  finishing 
on  the  top  floor  where  he  lived. 

When  Abie,  on  the  way  back,  reached  the  step  just 
above  Minnie,  a  man's  voice  sounded,  calm  but  not 
defiant : 

"I  cannot  work  on  the  Sabbath.  You  can  if  you 
want  to." 

"Oh-h-h!"  shrieked  the  woman,  infuriated  impotence 
in  her  cry. 

Abie  was  terribly  interested.  The  gas  lighter  accen- 
tuating the  darkness  at  his  feet,  he  did  not  see  that 
Minnie  was  again  lying  crosswise  on  the  step  below. 
He  stumbled  over  her  a  second  time,  now  with  dis- 


12  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

astrous  results.  Bump  went  his  head  on  the  railing. 
The  shock  and  the  quick  pain  gave  Abie  the  blind  im- 
pulse to  visit  corporal  punishment  upon  the  cause,  and 
he  was  about  to  kick  Minnie  lying  at  his  feet,  when  he 
checked  himself  and  burst  out  instead: 

"Fights!" 

Minnie  cringed  and  said  nothing. 

That  violent  shriek  seemed  to  have  concluded  the 
altercation.  Abie  waited  a  moment  or  two,  then  went 
on  about  his  business. 

Presently  the  door  above  opened.  Minnie  saw  her 
father  come  slowly,  awkwardly,  down  the  stairs.  His 
head  was  bowed,  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  feet.  Two 
or  three  times  he  muttered  as  he  shook  his  head : 

"She  has  no  shame,  she  has  no  shame.  The  neigh- 
bors could  have  heard  her." 

Minnie  drew  to  the  rear  of  the  hall.  Her  father 
passed  without  seeing  her. 

On  the  floor  below  he  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  cough- 
ing. Minnie  ran  to  the  balustrade.  She  saw  him  use 
his  handkerchief,  straighten  his  hat,  and  walk  out. 

II 

When  the  Mendels  arrived  in  America  from  a  small 
village  in  the  Baltic  provinces,  their  nearest  of  kin  met 
in  consultation  to  decide  what  the  father  should  do 
for  a  living.  As  the  family  had  come  safeguarded 
by  nearly  a  thousand  dollars,  it  was  thought  advisable 
that  he  go  into  business  for  himself,  especially  as  it 
would  also  solve  the  difficulty  of  the  Sabbath  observance. 
Elias  Mendel  was  a  pious  orthodox  Jew.  The  relatives 
had,  of  course,  learned  to  renounce  much  of  their  piety 


ELIAS  13 

by  this  time;  but  they  had  not  forgotten  their  own 
spiritual  struggle  and  were  tolerant  of  Elias.  "In  time 
he  will  get  ausgegreent"  (lose  the  greenness  of  the  new- 
comer), they  said. 

The  next  question  was,  what  business  to  put  Elias 
into.  The  decision  was  a  soda-water  stand,  with  a 
show-case  for  candies,  chewing-gum,  cigars  and  cigar- 
ettes. About  a  month  later  Elias,  the  pious  Jew,  with 
the  thoughtful  face  of  one  who  has  spent  long  hours 
in  the  study  of  the  Law,  was  standing  in  a  booth  in 
front  of  a  drug  store  on  Pike  Street,  mixing  red  syrups 
and  yellow  syrups  with  "sizzling"  water  to  answer 
the  outlandish  calls  for  vanilla,  strawberry,  ginger, 
raspberry. 

"A  language!"  Elias  Mendel  marvelled,  and  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

The  stand  did  not  yield  the  big  revenue  predicted. 
The  promoters  of  the  plan  accounted  for  the  failure  by 
Elias  Mendel's  overscrupulous  honesty.  Moreover,  "a 
stand  must  be  kept  open  on  a  Saturday.  People  who 
go  to  another  stand  on  a  Saturday,  go  to  it  on  a  Sun- 
day too,  and  on  a  Monday,  and  on  a  Tuesday."  A  true 
deduction. 

But  Elias  Mendel  held  to  his  Sabbath. 

The  next  venture  was  a  grocery  store  on  Forsyth 
Street.  Elias  gave  full  measure,  and,  of  course,  kept 
closed  on  Saturday.  So  how  could  it  pay? 

"He  is  crazy  honest,"  said  the  relatives-  in  denuncia- 
tion. "And  his  Sabbath  kills  him." 

The  Mendel  capital  dwindled  to  a  shadow  of  its 
former  self;  and  finally  even  the  shadow  faded  away. 
There  followed  a  period  of  short-lived  jobs.  In  quick 
succession  Elias  was  a  paper-box  maker,  a  bastings 


I4  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

puller,  a  ladies'  shirtwaist  sleeve  maker.  Because  he 
was  wholly  untrained  and  was  granted  the  privilege  of 
Sabbath  observance,  each  position  yielded  him  a  weekly 
wage  that  brought  his  family  closer  and  closer  to  the 
verge  of  starvation. 

Days  set  in  when  the  children  asked  for  bread  and 
Sarah  had  none  to  give. 

In  the  old  country  Elias,  though  he  had  owned  a 
dry-goods  store,  which  had  maintained  his  family  amply, 
had  been  able  to  give  up  a  goodly  portion  of  each  day 
to  prayer  and  Talmudic  study  in  the  synagogue,  as  he 
had  had  the  aid  not  only  of  Sarah  but  also  of  Sarah's 
parents,  who  had  migrated  with  their  daughter  from 
Memel  at  the  time  of  her  marriage.  Never  had  he 
dreamed  of  such  a  change.  To  work  a  whole  day  and 
that  there  should  be  talk  even  of  violating  the  Sabbath! 
It  was  unheard  of.  America  was  a  queer  country. 

Sarah  had  no  such  scruples  with  regard  to  the  Sab- 
bath observance,  though  she  was  not  wholly  irreligious. 
Early  in  life  she  had  come  under  the  influence  of  a 
"freethinker"  lover,  a  young  man  who  with  the  assur- 
ance of  the  immature,  waived  all  faith  aside  with 
"Narrishkeit,  narrishkeit"  (foolishness)  !  He  had  bent 
her  point  of  view,  though  not  to  absolute  skepticism, 
yet  to  uncertainty,  to  which,  however,  as  long  as  she 
remained  in  her  father's  home,  she  never  gave  voice. 
Women  of  Sarah's  generation  and  bringing  up,  in  nor- 
mal circumstances,  do  not  pit  their  opinions  against 
those  of  their  men  folk.  When  they  disagree,  they 
bow  their  heads  and  say  nothing. 

Sarah's  parents,  declaring  her  marriage  with  Leopold 
Pollack  would  bring  them  to  an  early  grave,  forced  her 
to  marry,  at  seventeen,  Elias,  pious  and  uncouth  and  as 


ELI  AS  15 

unsuited  to  her  romantic  temperament  as  water  to  fire. 

By  degrees  she  began  to  realize  more  and  more  fully 
that  her  life  was  always  to  be  what  it  was;  she  was 
ever  to  be  the  keeper  of  Elias's  home,  nothing  else, 
and  she  began  to  nurture  resentment  and  bitterness. 
The  longer  she  drew  comparisons  the  more  convinced 
she  became  that  Elias,  for  all  his  piety,  was  no  whit 
better  a  man  than  the  freethinker  she  had  been  made 
to  give  up. 

Yet,  while  her  parents,  whom  she  loved  and  felt  con- 
sideration for,  were  with  her,  she  exercised  self-control 
and  maintained,  on  the  whole,  an  agreeable  manner.  But 
a  discerning  person  would  have  observed  that  she  had 
periods  of  apparently  unwarranted  thought  fulness  and 
often  avoided  meeting  her  parents'  as  well  as  Elias's 
eyes  when  they  spoke  to  her.  Then,  too,  she  was  ir- 
ritable with  the  children  on  insufficient  provocation.  But 
no  one  gave  Sarah  any  special  observation  except  to 
ask  now  and  again  what  in  God's  name  she  wanted  of 
the  children  since  they  were  only  children.  Sarah  would 
turn  away,  say  nothing,  and  soon  resume  her  manner 
of  quiet  agreeableness. 

Sarah's  parents  died,  one  following  the  other  quickly. 
Then  came  the  emigration,  which  tore  her  from  the 
surroundings  in  which  she  might  have  continued  to  live 
a  comparatively  serene  life,  and  transferred  her  to  the 
soil  of  poverty,  in  which  self-control,  like  so  many  other 
virtues,  is  doomed  to  wither. 


A  few  days  after  Minnie's  and  Abie's  encounter  in 
the  yard,  Mira  Cohen  came  to  visit  Sarah.  Always 
swift  in  her  movements,  she  seemed  now,  as  she  en- 


i.6  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

tered  the  room,  actually  to  be  whipping  the  air.  She 
was  a  tall,  lean  woman,  with  scanty  red  hair  drawn 
away  from  her  forehead  and  ears  into  a  tight  knot  on 
the  peak  of  her  head. 

Something  was  up.  Sarah  could  read  it  in  her  eyes. 
Mira  let  herself  down  on  the  lounge  emphatically  and 
looked  Sarah  squarely  in  the  eye. 

"Nu,  wus  macht  ihrf"  (How  are  you?)  she  began 
with  decision. 

Sarah  raised  her  eyebrows  and  looked  away. 

Though  much  alike,  the  two  women  were  a  curious 
study  in  contrast.  Sarah,  too,  was  tall  and  thin;  there 
were  reddish  glints  in  her  straight  hair.  One  could  tell 
at  a  glance  that  both  women  were  harassed  and  em- 
bittered. But  Sarah's  pale,  thin  lips  quivered,  while 
Mira's  tight-set  jaw  seemed  to  challenge  God  and  man 
to  dare  to  do  worse  by  her.  In  Sarah's  large  gray  eyes 
were  timidity  and  diffidence.  Mira's  small  blue  eyes 
darted  hard  determination  and  self-assurance. 

Sarah  looked  to  the  floor  as  though  seeking  inspira- 
tion for  the  right  answer  to  Mira's  quite  conventional 
question.  "How  should  one  be  ?"  she  finally  brought  out. 
"If  one  lives  and  one  walks  and  one  talks,  then  one 
is  all  right!  No?"  Tears  gathered  in  her  eyes,  her 
heart  was  heavy  with  its  burdens. 

It  crossed  Mira's  mind  that  the  woman  was  a  fool. 
There  were  plenty  of  remedies  in  America  to  resort 
to  when  one  had  a  conscienceless  husband.  Indeed,  that 
devotion  of  Elias's  to  the  Sabbath  was  a  fine  affecta- 
tion. The  truth  was,  he  was  lazy.  Accustomed  to  his 
"if-I-don't-come-to-day,  I'11-come-to-morrow"  way  in  the 
old  country,  he  seized  upon  any  pretext  to  live  in  the 
same  way  here.  Would  she  stand  for  such  conduct? 


ELIAS  17 

Indeed  not.  Her  mind  travelled  with  self -approbation 
to  a  scene  between  herself  and  her  husband. 

Though  Sarah  and  Mira  were  friends,  Mira  had  no 
patience  with  Sarah's  out-of-place  refinement,  and  Sarah 
innately  withdrew  from  Mira's  ever-ready  advice  and 
incessant  activity.  Mira  was  always  discovering  a 
cheaper  fish  store,  a  place  where  one  could  get  coal  for 
next  to  nothing,  a  pushcart  of  "remlets"  (remnants),  or 
a  dispensary;  and  she  was  forever  giving  advice  to  all 
sorts  of  people  about  all  sorts  of  things,  from  how  to  set 
dough  to  when  to  call  in  the  police. 

Mira  straightened  herself,  so  that  she  looked  like  a 
red-knobbed  stick  on  Sarah's  lounge. 

"Nu,  God  be  thanked,  I  fixed  him!"  The  announce- 
ment was  what  her  determined  manner  had  been  setting 
the  stage  for. 

"Fixed  him?"  asked  Sarah  shyly,  who  sensed  that 
Mira  was  referring  to  her  drinking  husband.  Though 
her  friend's  confidential  tone  invited  questioning,  she 
shrank  from  being  intrusive. 

"Yes,  I  fixed  him.  Long  enough  I  stood  it.  But  no 
more.  I  made  up  my  mind  there  would  have  to  be 
an  end  before  death.  If  I  waited  for  God  to  wake  up 
from  His  dreams,  it  would  take  to  my  death,  so  I  made 
my  own  finish."  Women  of  the  Ghetto  so  invariably 
accept  their  lot  in  life  as  final  "until  death,"  that  Mira 
felt  she  was  the  founder  of  a  new  creed. 

Through  Sarah's  heart  darted  envy.  Here  was  a 
woman  who  always  found  the  proper  remedy.  Why 
could  she  not  do  the  same? 

"He  promised  me  on  his  knees  he  would  abstain,  and 
yet  after  that  he  came  home  drunk — that  dear  husband 
of  mine.  I  said  to  myself:  'That  settles  it;  now  there 


i8  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

must  be  an  end.  Rabbi  Sunder's  daughter  it  does  not 
suit  to  be  the  wife  of  a  drunkard.' "  At  the  recollection 
of  her  aristocratic  paternal  ancestry,  tears  of  resentment 
came  to  Mira's  eyes.  "Why  of  all  women  it  should 
be  just  my  luck  to  have  a  drunkard  for  a  husband,  I 
don't  know."  She  wiped  her  .eyes  and  shrugged  her 
bony  shoulders.  "God  forgive  me — but  He  really  does 
not  know  His  business,"  she  averred.  A  shade  of  a 
smile  flitted  over  their  faces.  After  a  brief  silence 
Mira  went  on  rehashing  her  grievances. 

"It  drowns  his  worries.  Worries!  Porries!  What 
worries  has  he?  Nebich,  he  cannot  work  in  the  shop. 
The  air  chokes  him.  He  wants  to  live  in  a  house  with 
a  grassy  yard  like  at  home.  No  other  way  suits  him." 
Mira's  breath  came  in  excited  puffs ;  beads  of  perspira- 
tion appeared  on  her  long  forehead. 

Sarah,  all  impatience  to  know  what  remedy  this 
woman,  who,  like  herself,  was  encumbered  with  an 
unmanageable  husband,  had  found,  was  passionately 
wishing  she  would  end  the  prelude  and  tell  the  story. 
Mira,  detecting  the  inquisitive  look  in  her  eyes,  moved 
to  the  edge  of  the  lounge. 

"Across  the  street  from  the  house  I  live  in,"  she  be- 
gan, leaning  over  closer  to  Sarah,  "is  Essick  Market 
Court "  She  waited  to  see  whether  Sarah  remem- 
bered the  building;  on  the  way  to  Mira's  home  one 
must  pass  it.  "That's  a  place  for  just  such  women 
as  me — and  you,  too."  Seeing  that  Sarah  dropped  her 
eyes,  Mira  repeated:  "Yes,  you,  too.  Why  should  we 
fool  ourselves?  It's  between  friends.  What's  the  dif- 
ference if  a  husband  doesn't  support  because  he  drinks 
or  because  he  is  in  love  with  the  Sabbath?  If  a  hus- 
band doesn't  support,  he  doesn't  support." 


ELIAS  19 

Sarah  quivered  inwardly.  It  was  a  rude  touch,  which 
she  both  resented  and  welcomed. 

"I  made  him  go  to  the  Essick  Market  Court.  I  told 
him  if  he  would  not  go  willingly,  I  would  call  in  a 

policeman.  He  took  and  he  went  and  he  stood "  she 

punctuated  with  her  forefinger  in  midair,  "like  a  cow- 
ard before  the  judge ;  and  when  he  heard  that  he  would 
be  arrested  if  he  got  drunk  once  more,  he  trembled  like 
a  frightened  little  boy."  Mira  seemed  now  to  have 
reached  the  end  of  the  drama  in  her  heart  and  relax- 
ing as  in  relief  added:  "It's  now  a  week  and — only  no 
evil  eye  should  befall  him — he  hasn't  been  drunk  once." 

Both  women  silently  regarded  each  other  like  seller 
and  buyer  when  the  salesman  has  exhausted  his  talking 
points  and  waits  for  the  other  to  make  up  his  mind. 

The  door  opened  and  Elias  entered.  Seeing  Mira  he 
gave  a  perfunctory  greeting.  Mira  rose  hastily.  God 
in  heaven!  she  had  stayed  longer  than  she  intended. 
Elias  was  at  home !  It  must  be  late !  Hastily  she  gath- 
ered up  her  belongings.  Sarah  handed  her  a  parcel  which 
she  seemed  to  have  forgotten,  but  Mira,  giving  Elias  a 
sharp  glance,  said  to  Sarah: 

"No,  it's  for  you." 

In  his  shabby  dark  gray  suit,  his  hair  tousled,  his 
beard  untrimmed,  Elias,  dusty  and  worn,  looked  an 
object  that  has  been  trampled  upon  and  abused.  His 
manner  and  figure  exuded  such  fatigue  that  its  heavi- 
ness spread  like  a  contagion  through  the  room.  Mira 
correctly  concluded  that  he  had  been  out  job-hunting 
the  whole  day  without  success  because  of  the  Sabbath* 
She  soliloquized :  "A  man  should  be  so  crazy  religious ! 
A  woman  should  allow  herself  to  be  so  ill-treated !"  She 
had  no  patience  with  either  of  them.  If  the  woman  were 


20  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

only  energetic  and  did  something,  took  him  to  the  court, 
for  instance,  had  him  frightened  once  and  for  all,  then 
they  would  get  somewhere.  He  would  make  up  his 
mind  that  God  does  not  pay  wages  for  piety,  that  chil- 
dren do  not  grow  like  branches  of  a  tree,  but  must  be 
fed,  that  a  wife  is  more  a  man's  responsibility  than 
God  Himself,  that  in  short,  a  man  must  go  and  do  and 
make. 

As  Sarah  led  her  irate  visitor  to  the  door  and  out 
into  the  hall  for  the  inevitable  appendage  to  a  woman's 
visit — a  little  more  talk — Mira  expressed  her  thoughts. 

Sarah  listened,  becoming  more  and  more  impressed 
with  the  enormity  of  the  abuse  she  and  her  children 
were  suffering  at  Elias's  pious  hands.  Any  expression 
of  regret  from  him,  she  felt,  even  if  couched  in  such 
mean  terms  as  "dog,  devil,  I  am  sorry  my  piety  makes 
it  hard  for  us,"  would  have  satisfied  her.  But  he  never 
so  much  as  said  "my  poor  children;"  he  thought  only 
of  himself  and  his  piety,  of  his  heaven  not  to  be  missed 
later.  Sarah's  indignation  waxed  hotter  and  hotter. 

Returning  to  the  room  she  at  once  opened  Mira's 
parcel.  Bread  and  meat!  Mira's  leavings!  God's  re- 
ward for  piety! 

"Look,"  she  said  to  Elias,  obviously  controlling  her 
anger.  "If  Mira  had  not  brought  this,  the  children  would 
have  nothing  to  eat."  Elias  made  no  reply.  There  was 
no  need  to  ask  whether  he  had  got  work.  His  dejec- 
tion allowed  of  no  optimism.  Sarah  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment irresolute,  then  drew  closer  to  him.  "Tell  me," 
she  began  as  if  propounding  a  mathmetical  problem,  "do 
you  think  this  can  go  on  very  much  longer?  As  your 
wife,  do  you  think  I  deserve  no  consideration  ?  And  the 
children — don't  you  ever  intend  to  realize  that  they  must 


ELI  AS  21 

be  fed,  that  children  do  not  grow  like  branches  on  a 
tree?" 

Elias  rose  from  his  chair.  "Don't  begin  all  over 
again,"  he  pleaded  gently,  his  eyes  moist  with  beseeching. 

For  one  instant  Sarah  was  held  by  pity ;  then  carried 
away  by  anger,  she  hurled  at  him: 

"I'll  fix  you,  I'll  fix  you!  Let  all  the  neighbors 
listen  to  my  loud  voice,  let  all  the  relatives  consider 
us  a  disgrace.  If  you  will  not  work  to  support  your 
children,  you  are  no  better  than  Mira's  drunken  hus- 
band, and  I'll  drag  you  to  court  as  she  dragged  him. 
I  don't  care  for  anything,  I'll  fix  you,  I'll  fix  you!" 

Elias  was  dazed  by  the  volley  of  words.  He  had  no 
idea  what  Sarah  was  talking  about — "drunken" — 
"court"— "fix."  He  begged  her  to  control  herself.  She 
grew  only  the  more  furious.  Elias  picked  up  his  hat 
and  went  out. 


IV 


For  days  Mira's  words  went  round  and  round  in 
Sarah's  mind.  Each  day  her  soul  drew  a  little  nearer 
to  sanctioning  the  course  of  conduct  Mira  had  advised. 
"He  deserves  it,  he  deserves  it!  He  deserves  anything! 
A  man  who  will  let  his  children  starve  deserves  the 
worst  that  can  happen  to  him,"  she  said  over  and  over 
again  to  herself. 

There  were  moments,  however,  when  the  very  fact 
that  she  had  this  weapon  to  fall  back  upon  lulled  her 
anger  to  rest.  She  admitted  to  herself  that  Elias,  after 
all,  war  concerned  about  his  children;  that  he  simply 
had  a  mistaken  sense  of  loyalty  to  his  God.  She  would 


22  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

sigh  and  her  naturally  shy  spirit:  would  draw  away 
from  the  profane  measure  of  revenge  that  she  was 
contemplating.  .  .  .  But  what  was  she  to  do?  Where 
was  it  leading  to?  They  could  not  live  on  Mira's  leav- 
ings of  bread  and  meat !  A  man  who  did  not  support  his 
family  for  love  of  his  Sabbath  was  as  bad  as  a  drunkard. 
Day  after  day  Elias  returned  the  same  dusty  gray  fig- 
ure, his  dragging  step  in  the  hall  forever  announcing  fail- 
ure. At  each  futile  attempt,  Sarah's  resentment  blazed 
up  and  dying  down  left  as  a  residue  a  more  crystallized 
determination  to  seek  redress.  At  last,  tried  to  the  ut- 
most, she  broke  away  from  her  timidity  and  tolerance, 
and,  raising  her  head  high,  jumped  into  the  fray  of  the 
more  sophisticated. 


One  Friday  morning,  after  many  rehearsals,  Minnie 
said  to  her  father: 

"Papa,  mama  said  you  should  meet  Mira's  husband  by 
his  house,  and  he  will  take  you  to  work  by  buttonholes 
in  his  shop." 

Pretending  she  could  market  more  economically  for 
the  Sabbath  at  an  early  hour,  Sarah  had  left  at  eight 
o'clock.  Jacob  had  gone  out  at  the  same  time  ostensibly 
for  school.  A  little  later  Minnie  also  departed.  The 
last  to  go  was  Elias. 

At  the  corner  of  the  street  near  the  courthouse  Sarah 
and  Jacob  waited  for  Minnie;  then  the  three  waited  for 
Elias.  Sarah  thought  with  bitter  sarcasm :  "He  hurries !" 

She  was  as  agitated  as  though  she  were  the  victim, 
not  the  aggressor.  Her  heart  hammered  at  her  ribs, 
her  temples  throbbed,  her  mouth  and  lips  were  dry,  her 


ELIAS  23 

tongue  was  pasty.  She  glanced  nervously  from  one 
corner  of  the  street  to  the  other,  one  moment  indignant 
at  Elias's  delay,  the  next  moment  hoping  he  would  not 
come.  Her  reason  for  seeking  refuge  in  the  Essex 
Market  Court  was  forgotten.  She  was  conscious  only 
of  something  strange  to  be  accomplished,  of  a  pounding 
heart,  and  a  brain  throbbing  and  muddled. 

Minnie,  the  first  to  spy  Elias  approaching  at  a  slow, 
even  gait,  his  eyes  lowered,  whispered: 

"Uh,  ma,  there's  pa !" 

Sarah  gathered  her  shawl  nervously  about  her  and 
looked  around. 

Self-control  is  characteristic  of  Talmud-trained  Jews. 
Though  Elias  was  astonished  to  see  his  wife  and  his 
two  children,  he  betrayed  no  emotion.  He  drew  toward 
them  at  the  same  even,  slow  pace.  He  suspected  there 
was  something  wrong  but  he  asked  quite  calmly: 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

Without  preliminaries,  to  all  appearance  aggressive,  in 
reality  almost  collapsing  from  agitation,  Sarah  told  her 
husband  "it  would  have  to  end."  Once  for  all  it  would 
have  to  be  settled  who  was  right,  he  or  she,  whether 
the  children  ought  or  ought  not  to  starve.  She  would 
"make  a  scene  to  bring  all  the  people  together"  if  he 
did  not  go  to  court  with  her  and  learn  that  a  man  who 
did  not  support  his  family  because  of  piety  was  no 
better  than  a  drunkard. 

Elias  listened  dumfounded.  He  recalled  the  words, 
"court,"  "drunken,"  "fix,"  to  which  he  had  attached  no 
actual  significance.  Could  he  be  hearing  aright?  Was 
the  woman  in  front  of  him  his  wife?  Were  the  two 
children  his  children?  He  found  nothing  to  say  in 
reply.  Finally  he  gathered  his  wits  together. 


24  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

» 

"You  must  be  crazy.  It  cannot  be  otherwise."  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  as  if  to  say  that  even  if  Sarah 
were  insane,  such  conduct  was  incomprehensible.  Sud- 
denly the  face  of  a  yellow  cat,  which  had  been  the 
family  pet  in  Russia,  danced  irritatingly  before  his  eyes. 
He  dropped  his  lids  to  blot  out  the  image.  Then  came 
a  fleeting  vision  of  Minnie  as  a  baby.  He  glanced  at 
the  child.  She,  glimpsing  his  look,  moved  closer  to 
her  mother,  raising  her  thumb  to  her  mouth.  An  ex- 
quisite pain  pierced  Elias's  father-heart. 

In  just  a  moment,  Elias's  beard  became  two  beards 
to  Sarah,  then  three  beards,  and  one  again,  and  his 
person  very  clear.  Sarah's  resolution  gained  strength' 
in  that  moment.  "Once  for  all!"  she  said  emphatically. 
Her  loud  voice  intimidated  them  all.  Simultaneously  and 
without  definite  purpose  they  proceeded  slowly  forward. 

"Can  it  be  that  this  is  Sarah?"  Elias  thought.  In 
some  unaccountable  way  a  tender  feeling  for  his  wife 
entered  his  heart.  He  stepped  nearer  and  took  her  by 
the  elbow.  "Come,  my  wife,  this  is  for  people's  laugh- 
ter" (far  leitische  Gelechter) .  He  spoke  gently  and  tried 
to  lead  her  away.  This  only  irritated  Sarah  more. 
"You  dare!"  she  shouted.  Elias  looked  timidly  about 
to  see  if  anyone  had  heard.  A  scene  on  the  street  was 
above  all  to  be  avoided.  They  continued  slowly  to 
approach  the  courthouse. 

When  they  reached  the  door,  each  waited  for  the 
other  to  lead  the  way.  Presently  an  officer  appeared  and 
gruffly  ordered  them  to  "move  on."  Frightened,  they 
proceeded  as  one  person  to  enter. 

Returning  from  her  marketing,  Abie's  mother,  who 
was  not  Christianly  disposed  toward  Sarah,  just  then 
passed  the  courthouse.  She  saw  the  Mendels  disap- 


ELIAS  25 

pearing  through  the  doorway.  She  stopped  short  in 
astonishment.  "That  they  fight,"  she  thought,  "who 
does  not  know  that!  But  to  go  to  court f"  She  shrug- 
ged her  shoulders  and  walked  on.  "A  coarse  woman, 
that  Mrs.  Mendel!"  she  murmured  to  herself.  "But 
as  long  as  she  speaks  German!  every  sin  of  hers  is  nul- 
lified. Yiddish  past  ihr  nit."  (Yiddish  is  not  good 
enough  for  her). 

A  long  wait  on  shabby  benches  in  a  musty  room — a 
period  of  unreality  to  them  all — then  Sarah  and  the  two 
children  were  hustled  to  one  side  of  a  platform;  Elias 
was  placed  on  the  other  side,  an  interpreter  between. 

Sarah  looked  nervously  about.  For  an  instant  she 
permitted  her  eyes  to  rest  on  Elias;  he  looked  ghastly. 
A  sharp  pain  smote  her  heart.  "Woe  is  me!"  she  cried 
inaudibly.  Such  is  that  type  of  rebel,  they  can  con- 
tinue to  prosecute  by  tongue  or  deed  apparently  with- 
out mercy,  while  they  are  tortured  by  the  voice  of 
conscience. 

It  was  indeed  a  tragic  Mendel  group  which  faced  the 
Law  that  morning: 

Sarah,  her  heart  torn. 

Elias,  sorrowful  and  ashamed. 

Minnie,  alarmed  and  unsteady  on  her  feet. 

Jacob,  shy,  his  cap  pulled  down  over  his  tear-filled 
eyes. 

The  first  to  be  called  was  Elias.  Sarah,  whose  shak- 
ing knees  almost  gave  way,  looked  about  the  room. 
She  observed  a  woman  with  disheveled  hair,  who  sat 
with  her  mouth  wide  open.  Bringing  her  unsteady  hand 
up  to  her  own  hair  she  adjusted  a  few  loose  strands. 
Elias  stammered  out  his  name  with  a  swift  look  at  his 
wife.  A  wave  of  intense  bitterness  surged  through 


26  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

his  being,  and  hot  tears  came  to  his  eyes.  At  the  same 
moment  Sarah's  heart  again  cried :  "Woe  is  me !"  Until 
her  turn  came,  she  heard  not  another  word. 

"What  is  your  name?" 

Sarah  raised  her  chest  under  her  shawl  and  drew  the 
shawl  closer  about  her  thin  shoulders.  Suddenly  the 
room  seemed  to  be  in  utter  darkness.  She  blinked  and 
steadied  herself  against  the  railing.  Then  composing 
herself,  she  answered  huskily:  "Sarah  Mendel."  Her 
name  was  entered  in  the  formidable-looking  book.  She 
was  now  called  upon  to  state  her  "case." 

She  ran  the  back  of  her  hand  over  her  neck,  and  made 
an  effort  to  say  something,  but  her  voice  seemed  gone. 
She  looked  down  at  the  floor  then  cleared  her  throat. 
The  interpreter  told  her  to  speak  Yiddish,  he  would  ex- 
plain to  the  judge.  Hearing  the  word  "judge,"  Sarah 
looked  up  at  that  impressive  personage  and  smiled  stu- 
pidly. The  court  grew  impatient.  The  interpreter  told 
her  to  "hurry."  Thus  recalled  to  action,  Sarah  ner- 
vously put  her  hand  to  her  wrist,  slowly  pushed  up 
her  sleeve  and  exposed  bruises  caused  by  the  stove  door 
falling  shut  on  her  arm. 

"Does  he  hit  you?"  the  interpreter  inquired.  Sarah 
nodded  her  head. 

"He  don'  give  us  nothin*  to  eat,"  little  Minnie  shyly 
repeated  the  sentence  her  mother  had  rehearsed  with 
her,  her  thumb  again  in  her  mouth,  her  head  lowered, 
her  eyes  raised  to  the  judge. 

There  followed  some  writing  and  an  authoritative 
command : 

"Ten  days." 

Sarah,  dazed,  stupefied,  limp,  passed  her  hand  over 
her  eyes.  On  removing  it  she  saw  her  husband  in  the 


ELIAS  27 

grasp  of  two  uniformed  men.  She  shrieked  like  a  mad 
woman.  Arrested!  Ten  days!  Elias  arrested!  No, 
that  was  not  what  she  had  intended.  She  had  only 
wished  him  frightened,  as  Mira's  husband  had  been — 
then  he  would  work  on  the  Sabbath. 

Her  lamentations  broke  on  unattending  ears.  The 
law  was  not  to  be  trifled  with. 

Another  "case"  was  being  tried.  With  little  ceremony 
Sarah  and  her  children  were  dumped  outdoors  where 
the  sun  shone  unconcernedly.  Sarah  wrung  her  hands 
and  moaned,  "Woe  is  me!  Woe  is  me!"  the  two  chil- 
dren wailing  with  her. 

VI 

Mrs.  Ratkin  said  to  her  husband: 

"That  Mendel  woman — I  should  live  stii  an'd  be 
well — she  has  sent  her  husband  'over  the  water/* 
When  I  came  home  from  Sabbath  marketing  I  saw  her 
and  her  husband  and  Jakie  and  Minnie  going  into  Essick 
Market  Court.  That  she  and  her  husband  fight — who 
does  not  know  that?  But  to  go  to  cowrt,  and  to  get 
her  husband  arrested !  That  is  already  unsuited  to  Jew- 
ish people."  Mrs.  Ratkin  served  her  husband  with  her 
early  morning  thoughts.  "A  coarse  woman,  that  Mrs. 
Mendel.  But  as  long  as  she  speaks  German.  Yiddish 
past  ihr  nit.  And  such  a  one  gets  her  husband  arrested ! 
Does  that  woman  deserve  to  live?"  Though  her  hus- 
band was  listening  quite  attentively,  open-mouthed  like 
a  child  afflicted  with  adenoids,  she  spoke  as  if  he  were 
an  opponent  to  be  argued  into  her  way  of  thinking. 

*  Sing-Sing. 


28 

Abie,  too,  was  an  attentive  listener.  The  moment  his 
mother,  engrossed  in  her  narrative,  became  aware  of  this 
fact,  she  pounced  upon  him. 

"Why  did  you  listen  ?"  Then,  realizing  that  her  ques- 
tion was  foolish,  she  had  recourse  to  exhortation.  "For 
God's  sake,  obey  your  mother  for  once  and  do  not 
tell  anyone  what  I  told  papa."  She  conceived  the  no- 
tion that  if  Sarah  knew  she  knew,  Sarah  would  tell 
the  landlord  and  she  would  lose  her  janitorship.  Those 
whom  life  hounds  see  trouble  lurking  in  the  remotest 
corners.  Poor  Sarah  would  never  have  dreamed  of  ap- 
proaching the  landlord.  The  landlord  indeed !  An  im- 
posing personage,  big-bellied  and  solemn,  of  whom 
Sarah  and  the  other  tenants  stood  immensely  in  awe. 
He  never  greeted  them,  nor  so  much  as  took  notice  of 
their  existence  except  to  come  to  their  doors  once  a 
month,  solemn  as  the  occasion  itself,  and  demand  the 
rent. 

Eleven  days  later  when  Abie  was  sent  by  his  mother 
on  his  gas-lighting  job,  he  struck.  The  instrument  which 
his  father  (of  a  mechanical  turn,  though  pursuing  chiefly 
tHe  trade  of  rag-picker)  had  devised  for  turning  the  cock 
of  the  gas-jet  had  not  been  working  properly  for  tHe  past 
few  days,  and  Abie  fiad  been  compelled,  as  he  had  been 
before  his  father's  invention,  to  lug  a  chair  along.  He 
had  given  his  mother  fair  warning,  but  she  had  not  been 
able  to  prevail  upon  her  husband  to  shake  off  his  tired- 
ness long  enougti  to  fix  the  tin  tube  now  too  large  for 
the  candle. 

"Go,  Abie,  go.  It's  dark  already,"  pleaded  his 
mother. 


ELIAS  29 

"I  won't,"  said  Abie  again.  "The  candle  comes  all 
the  time  out." 

Mrs.  Ratkin  compressed  the  tin  tube  and  urged 
him  to  try  now.  At  the  door  the  candle  fell  out.  His 
mother,  angered,  grabbed  the  lighter  impatiently  from 
his  hand,  inserted  the  candle  with  vehemence  and  pro- 
ceeded with  Abie.  She  was  resolved  to  show  him  that 
all  instruments  work  well  always,  if  one  only  applies 
oneself  diligently  enough;  if  one  is  not  a  lazy  loafer, 
in  short. 

In  the  lowest  hall  of  the  front  tenement,  she  encoun- 
tered Sarah,  who  started,  turned  back  abruptly  as  though 
she  had  forgotten  something,  and  then  faced  round  again 
and  stammered  out  a  greeting. 

"What  are  you  so  excited  about?"  asked  Mrs.  Ratkin, 
who  knew  Elias  had  returned  that  afternoon.  When  she 
had  seen  him  from  the  yard,  she  had  looked  twice,  thrice, 
to  be  certain  her  eyes  did  not  deceive  her. 

Sarah  gave  a  shy,  self-conscious  smile. 

"My  husband — came  back  from  Brooklyn  to-day." 
She  colored  deeply.  "He  went  because  he  was  sick." 
She  made  a  hasty  move  toward  the  stairs.  Mounting 
a  few  steps,  she  added:  "I  just  went  out  to  buy  him 
some  supper." 

"Upon  my  word,"  Mrs.  Ratkin  confided  to  her  hus- 
band in  the  evening,  "that  woman  is  a  liar  to  her  bones ! 
She  tells  me  her  husband  was  sick  in  Brooklyn.  Sick! 
One  says  nothing  then.  Why  was  it  necessary  for  her 
to  tell  a  lie?"  She  turned  to  Abie,  dread  of  contamina- 
tion entering  her  heart.  "Better,  my  son,  spend  your 
time  helping  your  mother  than  playing  round  with  that 
Minnie  girl.  A  homely  one — fui!"  She  turned  to  her 


30  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

husband  again.  "Who  knows — children — they  grow  up 
before  one  realizes  it.  God  forbid !" 

Jewish  parents  always  provide  careers  for  their  chil- 
dren up  to  and  including  matrimony,  never  discouraged 
in  the  face  of  Fate's  perpetual  contrariness. 

"S'  a  madder,  ma  ?"  asked  Abie.  "Wuz  Mr.  Mendel 
arrested?  I  ain'  gonna  tell."  He  placed  his  hand  over 
his  heart  in  religious  pledge  of  holiday  honor.  "Tell 
me,"  he  urged. 

"Go,  go!"  said  Mrs.  Ratkin  to  quash  his  curiosity. 
Then  deeming  further  precaution  necessary  she  added : 
"I  can, -God  forbid,  lose  the  place  here  if  that  woman 
begins  to  tell  people  or  the  landlord  that  I  gossip. 
She  is  such  a  liar.  Who  knows  what  she  would  not 
say  if  one  word  got  to  her!  You  hear!"  she  now 
shouted  at  Abie,  "you  should  never  dare  to  say  a  word." 

Abie  acknowledged  that  the  warning  had  reached  his 
ears.  However,  he  had  no  intention  of  giving  up  Minnie 
as  a  playfellow  or  a  quarrel  fellow.  In  fact,  a  very  differ- 
ent chain  of  thoughts  was  set  going  in  his  mind.  These 
eventually  linked  themselves  with  an  event  of  grave  im- 
portance to  the  Ratkin  family. 

VII 

Had  Elias  Mendel  been  released  immediately  upon 
his  wife's  pleading,  he  would  undoubtedly  have  been 
welcomed  back  by  her  as  one  who  has  been  restored  to 
life  from  the  dead;  and  temporarily  all  his  sins  would 
have  been  forgotten.  But  only  temporarily.  His  reli- 
gious fanaticism  would  doubtless  soon  again  havd 
aroused  Sarah's  hostility  and  again  there  would  have 


ELI  AS  31 

set  in  the  same  ugly  struggle.  As  it  was,  the  ten  days 
gave  each  a  chance  to  reflect  upon  the  tragic  reality 
of  their  sordid  relationship. 

The  period  of  reflection  sobered  Sarah,  who  tortured 
herself  with  dire  speculations  as  to  where  and  under 
what  terrible  circumstances  the  law  was  keeping  her  hus- 
band in  confinement.  She  grew  to  hate  herself  for  the 
enormous  breach  of  decency  she  had  perpetrated.  Now 
and  then  she  found  solace  in  disclaiming  responsibility 
for  the  outcome  since  it  had  been  so  entirely  different 
from  her  intentions,  but  the  solace  would  not  last  long. 
"He  was  arrested  just  the  same,"  she  would  charge 
herself,  "like  any  common  peasant  at  home."  Elias 
would  be  justified  in  hating  her  the  remainder  of  his 
days.  When  she  remembered  his  decent  Talmudic 
friends  "at  home"  and  wondered  what  they  would  think 
of  her  conduct,  she  felt  a  sinking  of  her  heart.  As  for 
her  parents,  she  was  sure  they  would  "turn  in  their 
graves."  .  .  Like  a  scientist  studying  cause  and 
effect  she  consciously  now,  for  the  first  time,  thought 
over  their  life  together  and  saw  her  disloyalty.  "I  mar- 
ried him;  I  must  stand  his  idiosyncrasies  as  I  would 
stand  a  disease.  To  cut  up  capers  in  public  at  this 
day — with  four  children — that  is  indeed  leitische  Ge- 
lechter."  She  felt  herself  drawn  back  as  by  a  firm  hand 
to  her  old,  decent  self;  and  rational  plans  for  solving 
their  difficulties  came  to  her.  Jacob  could  sell  papers, 
Minnie  could  help  him,  she  herself  could  peddle  can- 
dles, stationery — do  something. 

She  gave  Jacob  five  cents  immediately  to  invest  in 
ten  papers,  and  he  and  Minnie  sold  them  at  a  profit 
of  five  cents. 


32  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Elias,  in  his  prison  cell,  little  divining  Sarah's  change 
of  heart,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  she  was  capable 
of  lying,  was  vindictive,  and  disliked  him  far  more  than 
he  had  ever  imagined.  She  was  an  outrageous  apostate. 
There  was  but  one  decent  thing  to  do,  divorce  her.  The 
children?  Ah,  the  children!  At  this  point  Elias  al- 
ways sighed  and  got  no  further.  It  was,  however,  with 
the  firm  intention  of  approaching  his  wife  as  a  man 
who  will  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  her  that  he 
turned  his  steps  homeward  the  day  of  his  release. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  he  reached  home. 
A  melancholy  twilight  and  quiet  filled  the  room.  None 
of  the  children  were  at  home.  On  the  bed  in  a  dark 
air-tigfit  bedroom — a  denial  of  our  civilization — lay  Foxy, 
the  dog,  unconcernedly  asleep.  Sarah  was  sitting  at  one 
of  the  two  windows  with  "leitische  Gelechter,  leitische 
Gelechter!"  running  through  her  tired  mind,  and  every 
now  and  then  a  sigh  of  dull  resignation  escaping  from 
her.  She  was  not  expecting  her  husband. 

When  the  door  opened  she  turned  her  head,  thinking 
it  was  one  of  the  children.  At  sight  of  Elias  her  heart 
bounded.  She  made  a  successful  effort  to  hide  her 
emotion.  Nothing  but  the  flutter  of  her  eyelids  could 
have  revealed  her  agitation  even  to  the  keenest  observer. 
Though  her  impulse  was  to  rise,  she  remained  seated. 
Her  husband  greeted  her  while  he  still  .held  the  door 
in  his  hand.  Sarah  answered  perfunctorily,  turning  her 
head  quickly  to  look  out  of  the  window.  Elias  stepped 
into  the  room.  He  coughed,  removed  his  hat,  and  wip- 
ing the  perspiratioji  from  his  forehead,  seated  himself 
on  the  lounge.  He  coughed  again.  Then,  examining  his 
fingernails,  he  asked  for  the  children. 

Sarah's  heart  was  going  nervously.     She  moved  un- 


ELIAS  33 

easily  on  her  chair.  To  cover  her  tremulousness  she 
put  a  note  of  impatience  into  her  answer,  "They  are 
playing  on  the  street"  She  continued  to  look  through 
the  window. 

To  her  husband,  in  his  present  frame  of  mind,  her 
tone  suggested:  "Why  do  you  not  ask  whether  they 
are  hungry?"  Poor  Sarah!  Somehow  she  now  felt 
she  must  conceal  her  regret.  Elias  consequently  re- 
flected: "The  sooner  we  are  divorced  the  better  for  all 
of  us,  then  I  will  go  back  'home.' "  He  sighed.  Sarah 
impulsively  turned  eyes  of  concern  upon  him.  Just 
then  there  was  a  commotion  in  the  hall.  Bursting  open 
the  door,  Ida  and  Bubbele  laughing  merrily  fell  over 
each  other  into  the  room.  Upon  seeing  their  father, 
they  instantly  disentangled  themselves  and  rushed  at 
him,  enthusiastically  shouting :  "Papa,  papa !"  Never  be- 
fore had  their  father  paid  so  long  a  visit  to  their  uncle 
in  Brooklyn. 

Sarah  rose  from  her  seat,  stood  a  moment  irresolute, 
then  moved  toward  the  stove,  where  filling  the  tea  kettle 
gave  her  an  excuse  for  standing  with  her  back  to  the 
group.  Another  moment's  thought,  and  she  decided  to 
go  downstairs.  She  went  back  to  her  chair  by  the  win- 
dow to  get  her  shawl,  which  had  fallen  to  the  floor,  and 
put  it  about  her  shoulders. 

"Where  you  gone,  mama?"  Bubbele  piped,  staying 
the  movement  of  her  little  hand  to  her  father's  beard. 
Elias  had  taken  both  children  on  his  knees. 

Sarah  avoided  looking  at  the  group.  Inventing  the 
need  for  some  groceries,  she  said  impatiently  that  she 
was  going  out.  At  that  moment  the  door  opened.  It 
was  Minnie.  Instantly  seeing  her  father  she  stopped 
short  on  the  threshold,  undecided  whether  to  enter  or 
turn  back.  Elias  looked  at  her,  his  head  half  raised. 


34  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"Nu,  daughter?"  he  said,  rising  as  he  seated  Ida  and 
Bubbele  on  the  lounge. 

Minnie  looked  at  her  mother,  whose  eyes,  she  saw 
were  moist.  Quickly  laying  her  head  against  the  hand 
holding  the  knob,  she  burst  into  tears.  Sarah  brushed 
past  the  child  and  out,  banging  the  door.  Minnie  stood 
weeping  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Elias  called  to  her 
again.  She  flew  to  him  and  cried  in  abandonment : 
"Oo,  papa!  Oo,  papa!"  as  she  nestled  her  small  body 
against  the  man's  bony  frame.  Elias  clumsily  stroked 
her  hair.  "Be  still,  my  child,"  he  urged  gently,  "be 
still."  By  degrees  Minnie's  outburst  subsided. 

While  Elias  was  still  pacifying  her,  Jacob  entered. 
Seeing  his  father  he  quickly  moved  into  the  bedroom, 
where  he  threw  his  cap  on  a  chair  and  stirred  about 
as  if  attending  to  things.  Then  he  sat  down  upon 
the  bed,  on  which  Foxy  still  lay  asleep.  Jacob  won- 
dered hastily  about  his  father  and  where  his  mother 
was.  That  his  father  should  be  petting  Minnie  aston- 
ished him.  He  wished  his  mother  would  come  back. 
He  was  anxious  for  an  explanation.  ...  In  the 
meantime  he  stroked  Foxy's  fur.  Several  times  the 
dog  moved  uncomfortably  under  the  hand ;  finally  he 
awoke,  and  shaking  himself  as  does  a  swimmer  to  throw 
off  the  wet,  sniffed  at  Jacob  investigatingly.  In  a  mo- 
ment he  became  aware  of  Elias's  presence,  and  with  one 
excited  move  bounded  into  the  other  room  and  licked 
and  wagged  Elias  a  boisterous  welcome.  Tears  came  to 
Elias  Mendel's  eyes. 

Foxy  gone,  Jacob  began  twirling  his  cap,  dropped 
it  again,  and  sat  with  clasped  knees  contemplating  the 
ceiling.  Elias,  though  he  glanced  stealthily  into  the 
bedroom,  did  not  call  to  his  son,  somehow,  from  Jacob, 
expecting  unsolicited  action. 


ELIAS  35 

Sarah  on  the  street  bethought  herself  that  Elias,  as 
well  as  the  children,  would  really  be  hungry  and  con- 
verted her  fictitious  errand  into  a  real  one,  buying  a 
can  of  salmon,  a  loaf  of  bread  and  some  onions  on 
trust.  It  was  returning  that  she  met  Mrs.  Ratkin  and 
Abie. 

As  she  reentered  the  room,  jealousy  shot  through  her 
heart  at  the  sight  of  Minnie  in  her  father's  arms.  "Small 
as  she  is,"  she  thought,  "so  false — first  for  me  and  now 
for  him."  Poor  Sarah!  Minnie's  innocent  demonstra- 
tiveness  toward  her  father,  she  construed  as  a  reprimand 
to  herself.  Lowering  her  head,  she  began  undoing  the 
packages.  Becoming  conscious  of  Jacob's  presence,  she 
called  to  him. 

Jacob  had  risen  from  the  bed  on  hearing  his  mother 
enter,  but  at  her  summons,  though  ready  to  respond,  he 
pretended  he  had  to  pick  things  up  from  the  floor.  The 
truth  was,  he  hated  to  face  his  father.  Finally,  how- 
ever, he  lounged  in,  looking  steadily  toward  his  mother. 
Sarah  asked  how  many  papers  he  had  sold  that  day. 
"Sold  them  all,"  he  answered  fumbling  in  his  pockets 
for  the  afternoon's  yield.  Elias,  in  quick  comprehen- 
sion, smiled  as  he  watched  his  son  hand  ten  pennies  to 
Sarah.  Though  the  sight  saddened  him,  he  made  an 
attempt  at  jocularity  and  naturalness. 

"You  have  become  a  business  man  in  a  week,  my 
son?" 

Jacob  gave  his  father  an  impulsive  glance  and  smiled. 
Ida  and  Bubbele,  observing  from  their  mother's  profile 
that  she,  too,  was  smiling,  burst  into  laughter.  The  ten- 
sion was  temporarily  relieved.  Yet  throughout  the  meal 
there  was  a  feeling  of  constraint  upon  all  except  the 
two  youngest  children,  who  kept  on  laughing  and  chat- 
tering. Minnie's  little  body  often  heaved  with  short 


36 

sob-sighs — the  kind  that  come  after  much  crying.  She 
cast  covert  glances  now  at  her  father,  now  at  her  mother. 
Elias  and  Sarah  exchanged  occasional  remarks,  always 
avoiding  each  other's  eyes.  Jacob  ate  his  share  of  the 
meal  with  stubbornly  lowered  head.  He  reflected  chiefly 
about  Minnie.  "First  she  goes  and  says  to  the  judge, 
and  then  she  cries !"  He  held  his  sister  in  contempt. 

The  meal  was  soon  over.  Bubbele  asked  to  be  put 
on  the  lounge  where  she  soon  fell  asleep.  The  three 
other  children,  first  Jacob,  then  Minnie  and  Ida  went  to 
play  on  the  street.  East  Side  children  have  no  regular 
hours  for  sleep. 

When  the  door  closed  on  their  noisy  exit,  Sarah 
rose  to  clear  away  the  few  plates.  Service  with  the 
Mendels  was  a  simple  affair,  each  helping  himself  from 
a  common  dish.  Elias  seated  himself  at  the  window 
and  looked  into  the  yard.  He  wiped  the  perspiration 
from  his  face  and  contemplated  his  handkerchief.  He 
cleared  his  throat,  rose  from  his  chair,  then  sat  down 
again  as  if  to  settle  himself  more  comfortably,  though 
really  in  an  effort  to  overcome  his  nervousness. 

Sarah,  with  her  back  turned,  kept  up  the  appearance 
of  being  busied  with  the  dishes.  Her  hands  were  trem- 
bling too  greatly  for  work.  Somehow  she  was  sure  that 
her  husband  meant  to  suggest  a  plan  that  would  clash 
with  hers. 

"Sarah,"  Elias,  clearing  his  throat,  finally  called  to 
her. 

Sarah  pretended  not  to  hear  above  the  running  of  the 
water. 

Elias  called  again,  this  time  a  little  louder.  The  room 
turned  dark  to  Sarah,  her  knees  shook,  she  held  on 
to  the  side  of  the  sink.  When  Elias  called  to  her  a 
third  time,  she  could  no  longer  evade  him.  She  felt 


ELIAS  37 

herself  grow  limp  and  faint,  and  turned  not  to  face 
him,  but  to  seek  a  chair,  and  Elias,  who  was  not  look- 
ing at  her,  took  it  for  granted  that  she  had  seated  her- 
self preparatory  to  a  discussion.  Sarah  passed  her  hand 
over  her  eyes.  Elias  examined  his  fingernails,  then 
began  clumsily  and  not  at  all  as  he  had  intended: 

"Sarah,  what  are  we  to  do?" 

She  made  no  reply.     Elias  repeated  the  question. 

Hardly  conscious  of  what  she  was  saying,  Sarah  an- 
swered, slowly,  as  though  she  were  thinking  deeply, 
as  though  her  suggestions  were  the  inspiration  of  the 
moment  (such  are  the  masquerades  of  nervousness). 

"Jacob  will  keep  on  selling  papers — I  will  get  some- 
thing to  do  to  help  along — God  will  help." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause ;  each  became  aware  that 
the  other  had  spoken.  Elias  wondered  if  he  had  heard 
aright.  He  asked  Sarah  what  she  had  said.  Automatic- 
ally she  repeated : 

"Jacob  will  keep  on  selling  papers — I  will  get  some- 
thing to  do  to  help  along — God  will  help." 

They  looked  at  each  other.  Elias  saw  Sarah's  deathly 
pallor  and  was  aghast.  He  attempted  to  rise  from  his 
seat.  Neither  spoke  for  a  moment.  Then  Elias,  sink- 
ing back  in  his  chair,  put  his  head  in  the  cup  of  his 
palms  and  wept  like  a  child.  Sarah  raised  a  corner  of 
her  soiled  apron  to  her  eyes,  and  she,  too,  wept. 

VIII 

Elias  remained  without  work;  for  the  arrest  neither 
cured  him  of  his  piety  nor  taught  him  a  trade.  His 
daily  plodding  rounds  in  search  of  a  job  only  brought 
him  home  exhausted  and  heavier  hearted. 


38  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

It  was  a  period  of  great  trial  to  both  Elias  and  Sarah, 
whose  reconciliation  was  followed  by  a  sickening  self- 
consciousness  inevitable  with  sensitive  people.  Gray 
hairs  appeared  in  Elias's  dark  beard,  darker  rings  en- 
circled his  eyes.  Of  the  two,  he  made  the  greater  at- 
tempt to  bridge  over  the  awkwardness.  While  Sarah 
went  about  doing  the  housework,  he  would  relate  in- 
cidents of  the  day  and  talk  of  this  thing  or  that,  and 
often  read  aloud  snatches  of  news  from  the  daily  paper. 
If  anything  he  said  required  an  answer,  Sarah  would 
respond  with  an  effort  at  naturalness  and  her  old-time 
agreeableness.  Generally  she  would  avoid  looking  at 
him,  and  sometimes,  when  he  addressed  her  suddenly, 
she  would  start  nervously  and  reply  with  irritability. 
Instantly,  however,  she  would  check  herself  and  cover 
her  embarrassment  by  quickly  finding  something  to  do. 

There  were  days  when  Elias  returning  from  his  expedi- 
tions complained  of  feeling  ill.  "Sick!"  Sarah  would 
think  sarcastically  and  resentfully,  against  the  better 
self  which  struggled  for  existence.  She  had  a  constant 
pain  in  her  side,  yet  she  said  nothing.  Never  before 
had  Elias  complained,  and  Sarah  knew  he  would  not 
complain  now  without  good  cause;  but  want  is  a  wind 
that  blows  justice  back  to  heaven. 

One  evening  Elias  returned  home  jubilant.  He  had 
found  work  in  a  cigarette  factory;  the  boss  was  an 
orthodox  Jew  who  had  not  even  raised  the  Sabbath  ques- 
tion, and  had  actually  of  his  own  accord  offered  to  pay 
Elias  his  dream  of  a  maximum  salary — eight  dollars  a 
week. 

Elias  told  of  this  good  fortune  with  boyish  enthusi- 
asm. The  rings  under  his  eyes  seemed  to  turn  a  shade 
darker  from  his  great  joy.  Sarah  was  glad,  yet  when 


ELIAS  39 

Elias  in  his  high  spirits  attempted  to  kiss  her,  she  im- 
petuously pushed  him  away  and  turned  her  back.  Elias 
flushed. 

Sarah  went  to  the  sink  and  began  preparing  the  sup- 
per— a  feast  of  bread  and  sausages  taken  on  trust  from 
the  delicatessen  proprietor,  whose  patience  in  the  matter 
of  extending  credit  had  been  less  tried  in  these  days' 
than  that  of  the  grocer  and  butcher.  The  man  had 
given  her  the  eatables  with  marked  kindness,  and  Sarah 
groping  her  way  up  the  dark  tenement  stairs  had  shed 
tears  because  of  his  courtesy. 

Elias  reseated  himself  on  the  lounge.  Several  times 
he  told  Ida  and  Bubbele,  who  were  playing  on  the  floor, 
not  to  make  so  much  noise.  As  soon  as  Sarah  left  the 
sink,  he  rose  to  wash  himself.  Sarah,  anticipating  his 
requirements,  rummaged  in  a  box  in  the  bedroom  for 
a  towel  and  brought  it  to  him.  He  took  it  and  thanked 
her.  They  avoided  each  other's  eyes. 

As  Sarah  began  the  simple  setting  of  the  table,  Minnie 
came  in. 

"Sh'll  I  help  you,  ma?"  she  asked  promptly. 

"No,  your  face  is  dirty.  Wash  your  face  and  comb 
your  hair,"  Sarah  said  in  a  somewhat  irritated  tone, 
for,  though  she  refused  the  help,  she  resented  having 
to  do  all  the  work  herself. 

Soon  the  family  was  ready  for  the  meal.  Elias  told 
Jacob,  who  sat  in  a  corner  reading,  to  put  his  book  down 
and  come  to  the  table.  Sarah  was  the  last  to  seat 
herself.  She  had  first  to  wash  and  comb  Bubbele. 

During  the  meal,  Minnie  gave  Sarah  a  message  from 
Mira  Cohen,  whom  she  had  met  on  the  street. 

"She's  gonna  see  you  to-night,"  the  child  told  her 
mother. 


40  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"To-night,  here?"  Elias  asked.    He  did  not  like  Mira. 

"Did  she  say  she  is  coming  here  or  that  I  should 
go  to  her?"  inquired  Sarah,  who  inferred  that  the  mes- 
sage had  something  to  do  with  Mira's  promise  to  give 
her  the  address  of  a  place  where  she  could  apply  for 
work. 

"Yeh — no — I  mean  she  is  coming  here,"  answered 
Minnie,  passing  the  cuff  of  her  sleeve  across  her  nose. 
The  father  felt  called  upon  to  mend  his  daughter's  ways. 

"Yeh — no "  he  mimicked,  intending  to  add  that  a 

young  woman  of  eight  should  know  that  a  corner  of  a 
towel  and  not  the  cuff  of  a  sleeve  is  used  for  wiping 
noses.  A  laugh  from  Bubbele  diverted  him.  His  mim- 
icking had  struck  her  as  a  huge  joke.  She  began  mim- 
icking- too.  Ida  took  up  the  refrain,  and  soon  both 
children  were  crying  "Yeh — no-^ "  and  laughing  so  in- 
fectiously that  the  others  were  compelled  to  join  in  the 
fun.  Sarah,  however,  did  not  enter  into  the  spirit  of 
gaiety.  "See,  children,  stop,"  she  coaxed. 

"Let  the  children  have  their  fun,"  begged  Elias. 
However,  the  young  ones  settled  quietly  down  to  eat- 
ing again.  Yet  the  bit  of  merriment  had  cleared  the 
atmosphere  of  the  former  constraint.  Elias  felt  he  might 
again  talk  about  his  new  work.  For  the  present,  he 
explained,  he  would  have  to  do  various  small  tasks, 
such  as  sweeping  the  place,  cleaning  the  tables,  run- 
ning out  for  lunches  for  the  employees.  The  boss,  he 
said,  promised  to  advance  him  if  he  proved  himself 
capable — even  to  the  place  of  foreman.  Elias  accounted 
for  the  boss's  generosity  by  the  fact  that  they  were  com- 
patriots, although  the  boss  had  left  the  "other  side" 
many  years  earlier.  "He  is  an  unusually  nice  man," 
Elias  remarked  in  conclusion. 


ELIAS  41 

Sarah,  interested,  listened  attentively,  for  the  first  time 
free  of  agonizing  self -consciousness. 

Supper  was  soon  over.  Jacob  was  the  first  to  rise. 
When  Elias  questioned  him,  he  said  he  intended  to  go 
and  change  a  book  at  the  library. 

"Take  me  along,"  pleaded  Minnie,  as  her  brother 
picked  up  his  book  and  cap. 

"No,"  said  Elias  somewhat  authoritatively,  "you  stay 
at  home  and  help  your  mother.  Time  enough  when 
you  get  older  to  go  to  libraries." 

Minnie  stuck  her  thumb  in  her  mouth  and  looked  over 
quickly  at  her  mother.  "Mama,  sh'll  I  help?" 

"No,  go,"  Sarah  said,  resentment,  however,  flashing 
up  in  her  heart  again.  She  was  tired,  and  the  task  of 
washing  the  dishes,  few  as  they  were,  and  tidying  the 
room  loomed  up  as  gigantic. 

"No,  Minnele,  you  help  your  mother,"  Elias  insisted. 

Though  Minnie  was  willing,  Sarah  sent  her  off.  The 
children  went  out  together,  Jacob  grumbling:  "That  one 
always  has  to  run  along  like  a  little  worm.  Makes  me 
sick." 

The  incident  created  a  slight  tension  between  Sarah 
and  Elias  as  if  something  had  gone  wrong  between  them. 
When  he  rose  to  help,  she  turned  on  him  with  impulsive 
impatience. 

"Go  sit  down.  So  long "  she  broke  off  and  turned 

away  quickly.  It  had  been  on  her  lips  to  say :  "So  long 
you  never  thought  of  helping  and  now  suddenly  you 
do." 

Elias,  divining  the  unspoken,  became  embarrassed ;  the 
color  left  his  face.  The  occasional  underlying  irrita- 
tion in  Sarah's  manner  made  him  more  miserable  than 
had  her  former  full-worded  outbursts.  He  felt  the 


42  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

struggle  beneath  it.  Elias  was  in  love  with  the  Sarah 
he  had  married,  and  when  she  in  the  least  resembled 
that  old  self,  he  loved  her  still. 

Without  comment  he  walked  with  bowed  head  to  the 
lounge,  and  called  Ida  and  Bubbele,  who  came  running. 
Stretching  himself  out  at  full  length,  he  perched  Bubbele 
on  his  body  and  told  Ida  to  be  seated  on  the  least  dilapi- 
dated spot  on  the  lounge ;  some  parts  of  the  Mendel 
lounge  could  stand  very  little  strain  and  could  give  its 
burden  very  great  discomfort. 

"Ah,  pa,  tell  us  a  story,"  Ida  begged. 

"Yeh,"  Bubbele  chimed  in,  pulling  her  father's 
beard. 

"Don*  pull  papa's  beard,"  Ida  chided  Bubbele. 

Elias  told  of  the  coming  of  the  Messiah.  Though 
the  children  had  heard  the  story  countless  times  before, 
they  listened  again  with  the  keenest  interest.  When 
the  point  of  the  narrative  was  reached  that  promised 
the  coming  of  the  Messiah,  Ida  questioned  wonderingly, 
as  she  always  did:  "And  will  he  come  on  a  great  big 
mountain  and  blow  a  horn,  and  will  all  the  dead  peo- 
ples wake  up  and  walk  like  us  ?"  "Yes,"  Elias  promised. 
Ida's  face  expressed  incredulity,  and  Bubbele,  who  got 
her  cue  from  Ida,  put  on  a  similar  expression. 

Elias  looked  over  at  Sarah  standing  at  the  sink.  She 
was  thinking:  "How  people,  grown  up  like  Elias,  can 
believe  all  that,  I  do  not  understand.  God  forgive  me 
if  I  sin." 

Here,  without  the  preliminary  of  knocking,  Mira  en- 
tered, wiping  her  face,  panting  for  breath,  complaining, 
simultaneously,  of  the  four  flights  of  stairs,  and  seating 
herself. 

"Nu,  how  are  you?"  she  began  with  her  customary 


ELIAS  43 

salutation,  addressing  Sarah.  Sarah  stole  a  glance  at 
Elias. 

"How  I  am?  I  am,"  she  said  with  a  fatalistic  ges- 
ture characteristic  of  her  race — a  resigned  lift  of  the 
brow  and  a  slight  sidewise  ducking  of  the  head. 

Mira's  look  implied:  "That  does  not  tell  me  much." 
So  Sarah  added  quietly:  "How  should  one  be?  Alive. 
What  else  is  necessary  ?"  She  placed  a  dish  on  the  shelf 
above  the  sink  and  picked  up  the  third  and  last  dish 
still  to  be  dried.  Elias,  sitting  up  on  the  lounge,  looked 
at  the  two  women. 

"That's  a  truthful  truth,"  Mira  vouchsafed  in  agree- 
ment. There  was  general  repressed  smiling. 

Elias,  in  a  talkative  mood,  told  Mira  of  his  day's  suc- 
cess. Mira  offered  congratulations,  which,  while  sin- 
cere, were  also  sarcastic.  "By  cigarettes,"  she  said,  "one 
can  work  one's  self  up  without  limit,"  and  then  told 
of  a  man  she  knew  who  now  had  a  cigarette  factory  of 
his  own,  though  he  had  begun  just  as  low  as  Elias.  In 
fact,  so  well  was  he  doing  that  he  had  no  eyes  and  no 
use  for  acquaintances  of  less  prosperous  days.  Sarah 
and  Elias  listened  attentively,  their  hearts  fanned  by  a 
new  hope  as  is  a  dying  fire  by  a  mild  breeze.  Timidly, 
Elias  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  at  Sarah,  who  at  last 
had  seated  herself.  There  was  silence  for  a  moment 
or  two,  the  quiet  dolefully  emphasized  by  the  ticking 
of  a  one-legged  clock  which  lay  on  its  side  on  the 
wooden  shelf  over  the  sink. 

Bubbele  yawned  sleepily.  "Put  her  to  bed,"  Sarah 
asked  gently  of  Elias.  He  was  touched.  Lifting  the 
child  from  the  floor,  he  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  placed 
her  on  the  bed  in  the  one  other  room  of  their  home. 
The  next  moment  Ida  also  was  yawning.  "Go  to  bed, 
too,  childie,"  he  said.  She  rose  and  went.  Elias  picked 


44  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

up  his  coat.  Sarah  glanced  at  him  inquiringly.  "I'm 
going  down  to  buy  cigarettes,"  he  explained. 

"Soon  you  will  not  need  to  buy  cigarettes,"  Mira  said 
jocosely,  "you  will  have  a  place  of  your  own."  Sarah 
fumbled  with  her  apron  strings.  Elias,  embarrassed,  said 
good  night  quietly  and  went  out. 

Mira  turned  eagerly  to  Sarah.  "You  see,  when  he 
tried,  he  found."  she  said. 

"He  tried  before,  too,"  Sarah  replied  with  impulsive 
irritation,  and  immediately  averted  her  eyes  in  annoy- 
ance that  she  had  betrayed  herself.  The  truth  was, 
secretly  Sarah  bore  Mira  a  grudge,  as  if  Mira  were 
to  blame  that  the  Law  had  been  less  stringent  with  her 
husband  than  with  Sarah's. 

In  theory  Mira  was  averse  to  an  outsider's  inter- 
ference, however  well  meant,  between  man  and  wife,  es- 
pecially if  either  were  inclined  to  resent  it.  So  she 
said  no  more  on  the  subject,  though  Sarah,  she  thought, 
might  at  least  be  grateful  to  her  for  the  good  influence 
the  arrest  had  had  upon  Elias,  since  otherwise  he  would 
doubtless  still  be  an  idler.  Tactfully  she  veered  to  the 
purpose  of  her  visit.  She  supposed,  she  said,  Sarah 
would  not  need  work  now.  Sarah  hastily  assured  her 
to  the  contrary,  for  eight  dollars  a  week  was  scarcely 
enough  to  maintain  six  people;  and  besides  there  were 
debts  at  the  butcher's  and  the  grocer's  "over  her  head ;" 
also  the  children  needed  shoes.  Mira  wisely  remarked 
that  the  poor  man's  blessing  was  the  fact  that  he  had 
feet  to  boot.  They  both  smiled.  Mira  then  gave  Sarah 
the  promised  address.  It  was  the  People's  Charities 
on  Mustend  Street. 

"Charities?"  Sarah  inquired  timidly,  with  a  nervous 
jerk  of  her  left  shoulder.  She  was  alarmed;  charity 
did  not  gibe  with  her  idea  of  respectability. 


ELIAS  45 

"It  is  not  like  asking  for  money.  It  is  only  work 
you  want.  Do  not  be  foolish."  The  issue  not  being 
husbands,  Mira  could,  with  impunity,  be  her  compelling 
self. 

Sarah  lowered  her  head.  She  was  always  helpless 
when  Mira  waxed  certain.  The  subject  was  dismissed. 
They  talked  of  other  things.  When,  at  ten  o'clock, 
Mira  rose  to  go,  Sarah  accompanied  her  to  the  door, 
where  she  plucked  up  the  courage  to  ask: 

"Maybe  you  can  go  with  me  ?" 

"To  the  Charities?" 

Sarah  nodded  affirmatively. 

"Sure,  sure." 

They  agreed  to  leave  Mira's  house  at  ten  the  next 
morning.  Out  of  gratitude  Sarah  momentarily  was  con- 
vinced that  Mira  had  meant  well  when  she  had  sug- 
gested the  Essex  Market  Court  as  a  remedial  measure 
in  the  case  of  Elias  and  that  the  outcome  had  been 
due  to  her  own  black  luck. 

Elias,  on  his  return,  found  Sarah  combing  her  hair. 
He  was  in  good  spirits.  "You  have  pretty  hair,  Sarah," 
he  said  smiling  kindly. 

Sarah  turned  her  back.  She  did  not  like  compliments 
from  Elias,  and  was  glad  of  Minnie's  and  Jacob's  en- 
trance. Jacob  had  taken  two  books  out  of  the  library, 
one  of  which  Minnie  was  carrying,  proud  as  a  peacock. 
Elias  interrupted  the  child  in  her  stream  of  prattle  to 
remind  her  of  her  nightly  task; — to  bring  the  two  cots 
in  from  the  outside  hall  and  set  them  up  in  the  room- 
of-all-affairs.  One  was  for  Jacob,  the  other  for  Sarah 
and  Minnie.  The  bed  in  the  bedroom  was  occupied  by 
Elias  and  the  two  younger  children.  While  Minnie 
went  about  her  work,  Elias  undressed  Bubbele  and  Ida, 


46  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

and  Sarah  removed  bedding  from  the  bed  for  the  cots. 
When  the  cots  were  set  up,  Minnie  helped  Sarah  dis- 
tribute the  bedding. 

"To-morrow  when  you  come  from  school,"  the  mother 
whispered  as  together  they  spread  a  sheet,  "step  into 
the  grocery  store  and  bring  a  bottle  of  kerosene."  She 
sighed  heavily.  Time  and  again  she  had  tried  to  ex- 
terminate the  bedbugs  and  the  roaches. 

"Uh,  yeh,  ma,  Jacob  scratched  hisself  the  whole  day," 
Minnie  piped  alertly  and  appealed  to  Jacob  for  corro- 
boration.  "Am'  it?" 

"What?" 

"That  you  was  ate  up  by  the  bedbugs." 

Jacob  was  provoked  with  her.  She  had  invalidated  his 
greater  maturity  by  her  juvenile  presence  beside  him  in 
the  library. 

"All  the  time  she  tells — I  never  saw  such  a — such 

a "  His  stammering  made  Minnie  and  even  Sarah 

laugh. 

Elias,  already  in  bed  beside  Ida  and  Bubbele,  called 
out  that  it  was  late,  and  as  he  would  have  to  get  up 
early  in  the  morning,  would  they  quiet  down  immedi- 
ately. Sarah  turned  the  gas  low  and  whispered  to  the 
children  to  be  still.  In  the  dark  the  three  undressed 
an3  crawled  into  their  humble  beds. 

Minnie  was  the  first  to  fall  asleep.  Then  Jacob.  Sarah 
lay  thinking  of  her  tasks  of  the  morrow — the  Charities 
— the  bed  cleaning 

Then  she,  too,  fell  asleep. 

Late  in  the  night  Sarah  awoke.  Almost  at  the  same 
moment  Jacob  also  awoke.  He  whispered  in  a  wail : 
"Uh,  mama,  it  scratches  me  so!" 

Sarah  sat  up  in  her  cot. 

"What   shall   I   do— what   shall    I   do!"   she   moaned, 


ELIAS  47 

wringing  her  hands.  Then  she  checked  herself.  She 
must  not  disturb  Minnie.  "Go  to  sleep,  sonnie,"  she 
coaxed,  "go  to  sleep.  To-morrow  I  will  clean  again. 
Go  to  sleep."  As  if  to  inspire  the  boy  to  sleep  she 
herself  lay  down.  Jacob  followed  her  example.  When 
all  was  quiet,  Elias  turned  restlessly  in  bed  once,  twice — 
but  not  again. 

"I  clean  and  I  clean,"  Sarah  wailed  to  herself.  "The 
place  is  rotten — the  very  wood  is  rotten " 

Meanwhile  Jacob  was  taken  with  a  large  idea.  He 
knew  his  mother  would  not  refuse  him  anything  at  this 
hour  of  the  night  when  she  was  anxious  for  quiet 
above  everything  else.  He  whispered,  as  if  taking  up 
the  broken  thread  of  a  conversation : 

"So  will  you  give  me  a  quarter  to-morrow  for  papers, 
mama?  I  kin  sell  more — like  the  other  boys." 

Sarah  smiled.  Her  son's  shrewdness  did  not  escape 
her.  He  had  petitioned  for  the  same  amount  of  con- 
fidence in  his  salesman's  ability  in  the  daytime,  under 
ordinary  circumstances,  and  she  had  refused  to  give  it. 
The  boy's  assumption  was  correct ;  she  could  not  argue 
with  him  now. 

"All  right,"  she  said. 

"Remember,  you  promised." 

"All  right.     Go  to  sleep." 

Jacob  turned  on  his  side;  though  he  closed  his  eyes, 
he  did  not  fall  asleep  until  dawn.  Sarah  slept  not 
at  all. 

IX 

In  the  morning  Elias  said  to  Sarah: 
"Last     night,     Sarah,     I      was     greatly     bothered. 
Kerosene — " 

Sarah  cut  him  short. 


48  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"I  have  spilled  kerosene  without  measure;  it  does 
not  help.  Warm  nights  like  last  night  nothing  helps. 
The  place  is  rotten,  the  wood,  the  floor.  The  woman 
next  door,  Mrs.  Cohen  upstairs,  everybody  has  the  same 
trouble."  Realizing,  to  her  mortification,  that  she  had 
displayed  temper,  she  lowered  her  head  and  continued 
more  quietly :  "Yesterday  I  found  white  worms,  a  whole 
swarm  of  them  under  the  sink." 

Her  evident  distress  went  to  Elias's  heart.  He  was 
sorry  he  had  spoken.  He  turned  to  prepare  for  his 
morning  prayers. 

Sarah  roused  Minnie  and  Jacob.  The  cots  had  to  be 
removed  that  there  might  be  passing  room.  Jacob  rose 
reluctantly;  he  seemed  only  just  to  have  fallen  asleep. 
With  Minnie  helping,  Sarah  carried  the  bedding  into  the 
other  room.  Minnie  then  dragged  the  cots  out  to  the  hall. 
Jacob,  as  always,  concerned  himself  only  with  his  own 
person.  The  accepted  position  of  boys  in  Jewish  homes 
is  that  of  Lords  of  the  Domain. 

Minnie  dressed  hurriedly.  Her  next  duty  was  to  go 
to  the  grocery  store  for  breakfast  rolls.  She  needed  no 
instructions  as  to  the  kind  or  quantity  to  procure.  Each 
of  the  children  ate  one  cruller  for  breakfast,  Elias  two 
flat  buns  with  grated  onions  embedded  in  the  top,  Sarah 
a  plain  water  roll.  The  sum  to  be  expended  was  five 
cents. 

Sarah,  meanwhile,  placed  a  pot  of  water  on  the  gas 
stove  and  threw  in  a  handful  of  chicory.  Rolls  and 
"coffee"  had  been  the  family's  morning  repast  for  over 
two  years,  with  a  deviation  to  nothing  at  all  in  harder 
times. 

As  Sarah  turned  from  the  stove  to  pick  up  the  things 
strewn  about  the  room,  her  eyes  fell  on  Jacob.  His 


ELIAS  49 

sallowness  smote  her  heart.  ''He  must  have  been  eaten 
up,"  she  wailed  inwardly.  Why  was  such  terrible  luck 
coming  to  her  innocent  children! 

Minnie,  having  raced  up  the  stairs,  burst  into  the 
room  all  out  of  breath. 

"Look,  look,  how  she  runs!"  Sarah  cried  to  Elias; 
then  to  Minnie :  "Why  do  you  always  run  ?"  and  to  her- 
self, moaning :  "How  thin  and  pale  she,  too,  looks !  They 
are  all  coming  to  nothing."  She  turned  away  to  hide  her 
tears. 

Minnie,  who  took  Sarah's  lament  for  a  scolding,  de- 
fended herself. 

"Papa  said  he  must  be  in  the  shop  by  seven." 

Elias,  engaged  in  the  part  of  the  morning  prayer  at 
which  speech  is  forbidden,  shook  his  head  to  deny  that 
he  had  meant  the  child  to  run  herself  breathless.  Min- 
nie turned  away  sulking. 

"Come,  come,"  admonished  Sarah,  to  distract  Minnie, 
who,  mistaking  this  for  an  order  to  help  set  the  table, 
brought  the  cups  from  the  shelf  over  the  sink. 

Breakfast  over,  Elias  left  saying  he  expected  to  return 
earlier  than  the  evening  before,  when  he  had  been  de- 
tained in  conversation  with  the  boss. 

As  soon  as  the  door  closed  on  him,  Sarah  turned  to 
Minnie. 

"Do  not  forget  to  bring  the  kerosene.  Tell  the  gro- 
ceryman  to  put  it  in  the  book." 

In  the  book !  Trust !  Minnie  hated  taking  things 
on  trust,  and  she  said  so  petulantly  to  her  mother,  who, 
looking  away  and  evading  the  child's  objection,  contin- 
ued :  "If  he  says  anything  tell  him  your  papa  is  working 
and  your  mama  will  soon  pay  the  bill."  Some  expression 
on  her  mother's  face  left  the  child  silent,  apparently 


50  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

acquiescent.  "I  think  I  will  be  home  when  you  come 
from  school,"  Sarah  continued,  "but  if  I  am  not,  then 
put  the  bedding  out  on  the  fire  escape." 

"Why  can't  Jacob  do  it?"  Minnie  asked  in  a  fretted 
tone. 

Sarah  turned  to  the  boy :  "You  do  it,  Jacob,  then." 

"I  peddle  papers;  ain'  that  enough?" 

He  was  right.  Sarah  lacking  the  energy  for  dispute, 
spoke  in  a  voice  full  of  impending  tears: 

"Look,  look  how  they  quarrel  with  me !  She  does  not 
want  to  do  it,  he  does  not  want  to  do  it — everything  falls 
to  me  to  do.  Woe  is  me !" 

Minnie,  who  suffered  when  her  mother  cried,  repented 
at  once» 

"Aw  right,  ma,  I'll  do  it— I'll  do  it."  The  transfer 
of  emphasis  was  inspired  by  her  mother's  incredulous 
look. 

"I  am  going  to  the  Charities  to  get  work,"  Sarah  re- 
sumed in  a  colorless,  weary  tone.  "We  owe  the  butcher 
and  the  grocer  and  everybody.  And  you  all  need  shoes." 
Jacob  and  Minnie  regarded  their  feet.  Sarah  sighed. 

"Aw  right,  I'll  do  it,"  Minnie  again  promised,  feeling 
her  assurance  ought  to  allay  her  mother's  worries  as 
to  debts  and  shoes.  To  be  even  more  of  a  solace,  she 
proceeded  to  clear  the  table.  Jacob  ensconced  himself  in 
a  corner  to  study  his  arithmetic,  in  which  he  was  to 
be  examined  that  day. 

"Is  it  hard?"  asked  Minnie. 

"Not  very,"  Jacob  grunted,  keeping  his  eyes  on  his 
book. 

"Will  I  be  able  to  learn  it  when  I  get  up  high  like 
you?" 

"Aw,  shut  up!"  shouted  Jacob.     Sarah  looked  at  him 


ELI  AS  51 

disapprovingly.  "I  don'  care,"  he  said  sullenly,  "all  the 
time  she  asks  questions — like  last  night." 

"Last  night — /  asked  questions?  What  questions?" 
Minnie  seemed  ready  to  argue  against  the  false  charge 
to  the  bitter  end.  Sarah  heard  Ida  turn  in  bed.  "Be 
quiet,"  she  begged. 

Jacob  strapped  his  books. 

"Will  you  be  home  by  dinner  time?"  he  aJced  his 
mother  as  he  stood  at  the  door  ready  to  leave. 

"I  don't  know." 

In  slight  embarrassment,  he  requested  the  twenty-five 
cents  for  newspapers. 

Sarah  repented  her  nocturnal  rashness.  Twenty-five 
cents  was  a  large  investment.  However,  she  had  prom- 
ised ;  she  gave  him  the  money,  cautioning  him  many 
times  not  to  lose  it  while  inwardly  bearing  bedbugs  an 
additional  grudge. 

"Wait  for  me,"  Minnie  called. 

"No,  I  got  to  go." 

Minnie  darted  an  anxious  look  after  her  brother, 
snatched  up  her  primer  and  started  to  follow  when 
Sarah  detained  her  for  one  last  reminder  that  she  was 
to  buy  kerosene. 

"Aw  right,  mama,  so  a  hundred  times  you  tell  me." 
There  Jacob  was  gone !  She  had  been  deprived  of  the 
glory  of  appearing  on  the  street  beside  him,  perhaps  of 
carrying  some  of  his  books,  and  so  presenting  an  en- 
viable figure  before  her  little  girl  schoolmates!  Oh, 
it  made  her  sick! 

Sarah  said  nothing.  Perhaps  the  child's  annoyance 
was  justified.  She  lowered  her  head  and  sighed.  Min- 
nie ran  out. 

Sarah  awakened  Ida  and  Bubbele.     She  dressed  them 


52  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

and  set  them  to  their  feast  of  chicory  and  cruller. 
"Hurry,"  she  said., 

"Where  you  gone?"  asked  the  sleepy  Ida. 

"To  get  work." 

"Where?"  And  Bubbele  chimed  in:  "Yeh,  where 
mama  ?" 

Sarah  bent  over  Bubbele  and  spoke  in  the  confiding 
tone  of  mothers  telling  fairy  tales : 

"Mama  is  going  to  a  BIG  place,  where  they  will  send 
her  by  rich,  RICH  houses  to  do  work,  and  to  make 
money  to  buy  Bubbele  cakie,  and — and "  Sarah's  in- 
ventiveness gave  out.  She  paused  and  continued  with 
greater  energy: — "and  chicken,  CHICKEN  for  Bub- 
bele!" She  smothered  the  baby  with  passionate  kisses. 

"Cakie  and  chicken!"  Ida  repeated,  imitating  her 
mother's  tone. 

Bubbele  deigned  to  respond  with  the  condescension  of 
a  baby  in  any  household: 

"Yeh,  aw  right,  mama,  y'  kin  go." 

"Oh,  yes?     Thank  you,  my  child." 

Sarah  and  Ida  exchanged  glances  and  laughed. 

When  Sarah  was  ready  to  go,  Bubbele  pouted  and 
seemed  to  change  her  mind  concerning  the  leave  of 
absence.  Sarah  repeated  her  golden  promise;  doing  so, 
she  smiled  herself  out,  incidentally  instructing  Ida  not 
to  go  near  the  matches,  not  to  let  Bubbele  do  so  either ; 
to  run  down  at  eleven  o'clock  and  buy  ten  cents'  worth 
of  wurst  and  three  cents'  worth  of  bread ;  to  be  sure 
to  get  mustard  with  the  wurst;  to  put  the  eatables  in 
Minnie's  charge  for  division  among  them  at  lunch :  to 
take  care  that  Bubbele  should  not  fall  and  hurt  herself ; 
not  to  fall  herself ;  not  to  let  Foxy  run  wild ;  under  no 
circumstances  to  go  near  the  open  windows. 


ELIAS  53 

Ida  listened  intelligently,  and  Sarah  left  without  mis- 
givings; for  after  all  Ida  was  nearly  seven. 

On  the  street,  meeting  Mrs.  Ratkin,  Sarah  recklessly 
informed  her  of  the  bad  night  they  had  had. 

Mrs.  Ratkin  did  not  see  what  she  could  do  about  it: 
since  it  was  not  her  fault  she  did  not  see  why  Mrs. 
Mendel  bothered  her  about  it.  As  Sarah  walked  off, 
she  thought:  "Nu,  stay  at  home  and  clean.  Goes  out 
like  a  whole  lady." 

X 

The  hours  seemed  endless  to  the  two  small  children. 
But  they  made  the  best  of  the  long  wait,  buoyed  up 
by  the  promise  of  good  things  to  eat.  It  was  a  relief, 
however,  when  eleven  o'clock  came  and  with  it  the  break. 
Ida  perked  up  and  summoned  Bubbele  to  accompany 
her  on  the  errand  of  wurst,  bread  and  mustard.  She 
closed  the  door  hastily  and  forthwith  had  reason  to 
repent.  The  key  of  the  patent  lock  had  been  left  stick- 
ing inside.  For  a  moment  she  was  greatly  disturbed; 
then  she  bethought  herself  of  the  fire-escape  window, 
accessible  by  way  of  their  neighbor's  flat,  and  all  was 
well  again  in  Ida's  world. 

The  delectables  purchased,  the  three  waited  on  the 
street  for  Jacob  and  Minnie,  who  at  last  appeared.  Ida 
cautiously  broached  the  subject  of  the  lockout,  supple- 
menting her  account  with  the  distressing  information 
that  Bubbele  made  her  "sick!"  that  she  had  "ranned" 
in  the  gutter  in  front  of  "ninety  thousand"  trucks  and 
nearly  got  "murdered"  over  seventy  times.  She  de- 
pended upon  the  martyrdom  entailed  by  her  monitor- 
ship,  to  neutralize  the  offense  of  her  forgetfulness.  And 


54  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

it  did.  Neither  Jacob  nor  Minnie  complained,  Minnie 
out  of  sheer  gladness  to  have  Bubbele  there  safe  and 
sound.  As  they  mounted  the  stairs,  Jacob  asked  when 
their  mother  was  coming  back. 

"To-morrow,"  said  Ida. 

Minnie  dropped  Bubbele's  hand  and  stopped  short. 
"To-morrow!"  she  and  Jacob  exclaimed  simultaneously. 

"Yeh."  Ida  looked  at  Minnie.  "She  said  you 
shouldn't  go  no  more  to  school  to-day,  you  should  stay 
home."  The  greater  their  incredulity  the  more  Ida 
tried  to  convince  them.  "I  should  live  so,"  she  ended. 
Whereupon  they  all  resumed  their  upward  climb,  the 
one  least  conscious  of  complications  being  Foxy. 
Blessed  are  the  ignorant ! 

Timidly  knocking  at  the  neighbor's  door,  Minnie  asked 
permission  to  climb  across  the  fire  escape  into  her 
"house."  Jacob,  with  a  natural  aversion  for  all  neigh- 
bors, had  refused  to  embark  on  the  enterprize. 

The  neighbor  was  willing,  glad,  indeed,  to  accommo- 
date the  Mendels,  who  had  extended  her  the  same 
courtesy.  Minnie  crawled  through  the  window  out  on 
the  fire  escape,  which  barely  touched  the  window  of 
her  "house."  She  put  one  foot  over  the  railing  on  to 
the  window  sill  of  the  Mendel  kitchen  and  with  one 
hand  grasped  the  window  frame.  Then  she  swung  the 
second  foot  over  swiftly. 

The  Mendel  dwelling  was  four  stories  high.  A  slight 
mis-step  would  have  landed  Minnie  in  Kingdom  Come. 
But  she  performed  the  acrobatic  feat  without  a  mis- 
step. Surely  it  is  an  inconsistent  Power  which  watches 
over  the  children  of  the  lowly,  lavishing  dirt,  disease, 
and  starvation  upon  them  on  the  one  hand,  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  rescuing  them  from  trucks  and  falls. 


ELIAS  55 

Mrs.  Ratkin  just  then  in  the  yard  wanted  to  scream, 
yet  had  sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  consider  it  might 
frighten  Minnie  and  be  her  undoing.  When  the  child 
finally  disappeared  in  safety,  she  shrugged  her  shoulders 
and  mumbled:  "Such  a  mother!  To  leave  her  children 
alone  like  that.  A  chutzpeh  (cheek).  Only  a  Deitschke 
would  do  it."  Mrs.  Ratkiri  had  previously  questioned 
the  two  younger  children  on  the  street  concerning  their 
mother's  whereabouts.  "She  went  uptown,"  Ida  had 
said ;  from  which  Mrs.  Ratkin  concluded  that  Sarah 
was  enjoying  a  vain  social  call. 

Minnie  opened  the  door  for  the  ravenously  hungry 
group,  who  without  further  preliminary  than  the  open- 
ing of  the  parcel  for  a  frank  exposure  of  the  wurst, 
mustard  and  bread,  sat  down  to  eat.  Each  of  the  chil- 
dren gave  Foxy  an  occasional  morsel.  Jacob  offered 
him  the  skin  of  his  piece  of  wurst  generously  spread 
with  mustard.  The  dog  looked  decidedly  unapprecia- 
tive  of  the  joke;  the  children  laughed.  Minnie  called 
Foxy  to  her,  cooed  to  him,  and  with  a  loving  pat  gave 
him  her  last  piece  of  wurst,  which  Foxy  consumed  with 
lightning  rapidity. 

"Who's  gonna  bring  supper?"  inquired  Jacob  as  he 
was  getting  ready  to  leave. 

"Papa'll  bring  it.  Mama  said  so,"  replied  Ida, 
stretching  her  imagination.  Jacob  and  Minnie  stared. 
They  were  puzzled  beyond  words.  But  Jacob  was  not 
one  to  wrestle  with  problems.  Before  going  out  he 
asked  Minnie  to  see  to  it  that  their  father  kept  supper 
for  him;  he  might  be  detained  selling  his  larger  stock 
of  newspapers,  he  said.  Minnie  promised. 

As  soon  as  he  was  out  Minnie  turned  to  Ida. 

"Are  you  sure  mama  ain'  coming  home?"  she  asked 
earnestly. 


56  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"Honest."     Ida  laid  her  hand  over  her  heart. 

Minnie  was  convinced. 

She  went  about  quietly  cleaning  the  table  and  pick- 
ing up  scraps  from  the  floor.  It  occurred  to  her  that 
since  her  mother  was  to  absent  herself  for  so  long,  she 
herself  ought  to  clean  the  place  against  vermin. 

"I'm  gone  down  to  buy  kerosene,"  she  said. 

The  children  were  expecting  her  to  join  them  in  a 
game  of  jacks.  Bubbele  pouted. 

"You  never  play  wid  me,"  she  wailed. 

"It  will  bite  papa  and  mama,  and  Bubbele  too,  to- 
night if  I  don'  spill  kerosene,"  Minnie  emphatically 
explained. 

Bubbele  capitulated  after  her  big  sister  had  promised 
to  come  back  in  a  "second."  Perhaps  she  came  back  in 
less  than  a  second,  she  was  so  out  of  breath. 

The  first  thing  Minnie  did  was  to  struggle  with  the 
tightly  imbedded  cork.  She  got  it  out  with  a  jerk, 
spilling  lots  of  the  fluid  over  her  person.  Next  she 
and  Ida  brought  all  the  bedding  to  the  fire  escape ;  Bub- 
bele felt  useful  carrying  a  single  sheet.  These  things 
accomplished,  Minnie  saturated  the  low  woodwork  of 
the  bedroom,  the  floor,  the  spring,  the  frame  of  the  bed, 
the  cots.  Next  she  brought  the  bedding  in  again  and 
bestowed  a  fair  dose  upon  each  piece.  So  much  of  the 
liquid  covered  her  own  person  by  this  time  that  she  was 
beginning  to  be  more  of  a  smell  than  a  body. 

Sarah  returned  as  the  Augean  task  was  nearing  com- 
pletion. She  was  almost  overcome  by  the  stench,  and 
for  a  moment  was  too  puzzled  to  realize  what  was  go- 
ing on.  Then  she  automatically  dropped  several  pack- 
ages out  of  her  tired  arms  and  shrieked : 

"God  mine,  what  did  you  do?  How  did  you  dare?' 
She  slapped  the  diligent  Minnie. 


ELIAS  57 

Minnie  stood  speechless.  Sarah,  in  a  passion,  shook 
the  child  with  all  her  might,  and  gave  her  a  push  which 
sent  her  tumbling  on  to  the  floor.  Her  face  struck  against 
the  table. 

Bubbele  began  to  cry ;  Foxy  to  bark ;  Ida  crouched  in 
a  far  corner  of  the  room;  Minnie  shrieked. 

Blood !  Sarah  was  terrified.  Rushing  to  Minnie  she 
raised  her  from  the  floor  and  shouted  to  Ida  to  bring 
water.  Minnie's  nose  was  bleeding. 

While  performing  first-aid  to  the  injured,  Sarah  be- 
stowed much  petting  and  many  kisses. 

"But  why  did  you  do  it?"  the  mother  implored  in 
anguish,  holding  a  wet  cloth  against  the  weeping  child's 
nose. 

Minnie  explained  between  sobs  and  heavings. 

"Ida  said  you  would'n'  come  home  till  to-morrow, 
and  I  thought  it  would  bite  papa  to-night  if  I  did'n*  do 
it  by  myself." 

Sarah  looked  at  Ida  with  the  queer  feeling  that  in- 
sanity was  lurking  in  the  household. 

"To-morrow!     Who  said  to-morrow?" 

"I  had  afraid  to  stay  home  alone,"  Ida  wailed.  "Bub- 
bele and  me — Bubbele  near  got  ranned  over "  She 

ended  in  copious  tears. 

Sarah  sighed,  resigning  herself  to  the  tangle  and  the 
stench.  When  Minnie  felt  better,  she  laid  her  on  the 
lounge,  and  wearily  restored  the  bedding  to  the  fire 
escape  and  the  cots  to  the  hall. 

The  first  thing  Elias  said  when  he  returned  in  the 
evening  was: 

"What's  the  matter  with  her  nose?"  There  was  much 
concern  in  his  voice.  Indeed  the  organ  had  assumed  al- 
most double  proportions.  Sarah  was  very  contrite. 


58  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"I  was  so  angry  about  the  stench  that  I  nearly  killed 
her.  Poor  childie,  she  meant  it  well.  I  gave  her 
such  a  push  that  it  would  have  killed  her  but  for  better 
luck."  Reflectively  she  added :  "I  could  have  killed  any- 
body after  such  a  day  as  this." 

Elias  listened  puzzled.  What  difference  in  this  day 
from  other  days  had  warranted  his  wife  taking  chances 
with  the  life  of  their  eldest  little  daughter?  Sarah  was 
fast  returning  to  her  old  ways.  He  made  no  complaint, 
but  he  was  annoyed. 

"What  was  the  matter  with  the  day?"  he  asked. 

XI 

Self-consciousness  disappears  with  the  occurrence  of 
the  unusual.  Therefore,  without  constraint  Sarah  re- 
counted her  experiences  at  the  Charities.  She  spoke  hast- 
ily, excitedly,  even  touching  Elias's  arm  when  she 
thought  he  was  allowing  his  attention  to  be  distracted 
by  one  of  the  children. 

When  she  called  for  Mira,  she  found  her  still  cleaning 
her  three'  rooms,  and  the  operation  continued  for  a  full 
hour;  after  which  Mira  herself  needed  a  cleaning,  and 
this  consumed  more  time.  Thus,  it  was  after  eleven 
o'clock  that  they  started  out,  and  as  they  footed  it 
the  whole  way,  they  did  not  reach  the  Charities  until 
noon. 

"On  pins  and  needles  I  sat  in  her  house  on  account  of 
the  children,"  Sarah  told  Elias. 

At  the  Charities  door  Mira,  drawing  her  shawl  about 
her  with  a  touch  of  smugness,  said  she  would  wait  for 
Sarah  on  the  street.  "Time  enough  to  go  inside  when 
one  has  to,"  she  said  with  a  smile.  This  cut  Sarah, 


ELIAS  59 

who  interpreted  it  as  a  hint  at  social  superiority  and 
felt  it  an  audacity ;  Sarah's  ancestry  included  fewer 
needy  ones  than  Mira's.  If  one  were  to  go  by  that  law 
she  was  certainly  Mira's  superior.  "But  when  one  is 
down  oneself "  She  lowered  her  eyes  and  sighed. 

Elias  sensed  with  a  pang  that  she  blamed  him  for  her 
social  deterioration.  "But  who  wanted  her  to  go?"  he 
defended  himself.  "If  I  had  known,  she  would  not  have 
gone."  He  sighed  and  looked  through  the  window. 

Sarah  had  entered  the  Charities  alone,  and  from  sheer 
fright  and  dejection  had  slunk  into  the  first  room  she 

saw.    It  happened  to  be  the  right  room. 
******* 

"What  is  your  name,  please?"  asked  the  Lady  at  the 
desk. 

The  man  darted  a  quick,  nervous  glance  around  the 
room,  then  brought  his  eyes  back  to  his  interlocutor. 

"Huh?"    He  held  his  mouth  agape. 

"What  is  your  name?"  This  time  there  was  a  slight 
frostiness  in  the  Lady's  tone. 

The  applicant  grew  still  more  uncomfortable.  In  his 
nervousness  he  turned  his  head  squarely  away  from  the 
desk,  but  quickly  faced  around  again.  The  Lady  raised 
her  voice  and  put  the  question  in  Yiddish.  She  suc- 
ceeded in  eliciting  a  steadfast  regard  of  her  face.  She 
asked  again  :  "What — is — your — name  ?"  with  freezing 
iciness.  The  man  dropped  his  eyes.  Some  ill  fate  led 
him  to  shuffle  on  his  feet  and  look  backwards  once 
more. 

"I  am  talking  to  you,"  the  Lady  shouted,  "to  you! 
Can't  you  understand  when  a  person  asks  you  your 
name?"  In  an  abandonment  of  disgust  she  added  in 
English:  "For  goodness'  sake!"  Several  clerks  in  the 
large  room  raised  their  heads,  and  the  Head  of  the 


60  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Department,  an  employee  of  many  years'  standing,  ruf- 
fled her  forehead  in  irritation. 

The  shock  of  the  Lady's  louder  tone  brought  the  ap- 
plicant to  his  senses.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  quite 
grasped  the  question  and  had  known  he  was  the  one 
addressed,  but  somehow  his  tongue  had  failed  to  serve 
him.  With  awakened  spirit  he  threw  his  head  back  to 
help  convey  the  impression  that  while  he  had  not  un- 
derstood, he  now  did,  and  said :  "Uh,  sure.  My  name  ? 
Itzick." 

The  Lady  proceeded  to  write.    "Your  second  name?" 

As  he  had  never  been  sick,  Itzick  promptly  answered 
it  had  not  been  necessary  to  give  him  a  second  name. 

It  was  very  trying.  Behind  Itzick  waited  a  long  line 
of  men  and  women.  The  Head  of  the  Department  sent 
frequent  inquiring  glances  to  indicate  that  the  line  should 
diminish  more  rapidly.  The  Lady  exploded. 

"Sick!  Who  asked  you  about  sick?  Your  second 
name?"  Under  her  breath  she  muttered:  "Stupid!" 
and  flushed  patches  appeared  on  her  tired  face. 

Itzick's  "next"  dug  his  knuckles  into  Itzick's  ribs 
and  explained  in  a  whisper  that  she  wanted  his  family 
name.  Itzick,  his  face  purple,  intended  to  tell  her  he 
had  thought  she  meant  his  second  first  name,  which 
orthodox  Jews  give  only  in  cases  of  severe  illness,  but 
he  merely  answered,  praying  for  the  roof  to  come  down 
on  his  head  and  crush  him : 

"Uh,  sure,  Kramer."  His  knees  shook,  yet  he  made 
an  outward  show  of  assurance. 

"Thank  God!"  said  the  Lady,  though  her  face  re- 
tained its  expression  of  disgust.  She  looked  up  at  Itzick, 
whose  eyes,  meeting  hers,  closed  quickly,  opened,  and 
closed  quickly  again. 

"Where  do  you  live?" 


ELIAS  61 

Itzick  Kramer's  heart  beat  fast  with  the  horror  of 
another  question.  He  was  conscious  that  his  face  had 
reddened,  which  made  him  redden  the  more.  He  wished 
he  could  tear  himself  to  pieces. 

"Around  the  block." 

Itzick  Kramer's  "next"  would  have  "put  him  wise" 
to  the  specific  information  required,  but  the  Lady's 
countenance  so  obviously  threatened  a  volcanic  eruption 
that  he  felt  compelled  to  preserve  his  own  safety.  It- 
zick Kramer's  "next"  coughed  and  put  his  hand  up  to 
his  mouth  so  as  to  hide  the  fact  from  the  lady  that  the 
hand  was  originally  intended  to  journey  to  Itzick  Kra- 
mer's ribs. 

There  was  a  hush  of  Something  Terrible  in  the  air. 

"Around  the  block?"  shouted  the  Lady  with  the  ris- 
ing inflection  that  democratically  proclaimed  her  one  of 
Itzick  Kramer's  compatriots.  "What  do — what  street? 
What  number?  Can't  you  understand  that  I  have  to 
write  it  in  a  book  ?  Where  do  you  all  get  your  heads  ?" 
she  ended  almost  in  a  wail,  at  her  wits'  end. 

The  Department  Head  came  upon  the  scene.  Experi- 
ence had  by  now  sapped  this  Lady  dry  of  explosiveness. 

"Miss,"  said  she  in  a  dignified  tone,  "if  you  cannot 
get  the  information  you  need,  send  them  away;  do  not 
raise  your  voice ;  it  disturbs  everyone  in  the  office." 
Quietly,  then,  she  ordered  Itzick  Kramer  out  of  the 
line,  telfing  him  to  hear,  or  go  home  and  wash  his  ears. 

Itzick  flushed  a  deeper  purple.  With  that  sudden  in- 
surrection which  at  times  comes  to  timid  natures,  he 
refused  to  leave.  He  had  done  nothing  wrong,  he  said. 
The  Department  Head  summoned  a  man  who  was  em- 
ployed to  weed  out  disturbers,  and  soon  Itzick  Kramer, 
overcome  by  physical  superiority,  found  himself  ejected 
into  the  callous  Great  Outdoors. 


62  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"The  impudence !"  muttered  the  Department  Head  as 
she  made  her  way  back  to  her  desk,  meanwhile,  at  a 
glance,  taking  inventory  of  the  persons  in  the  line.  The 
soul  of  the  line  trembled. 

Itzick  Kramer's  "next"  automatically  fell  into  place 
for  the  quizzing.  The  first  two  questions  were  answered 
with  the  brilliance  of  a  school  boy  who  has  learned  his 
lesson  by  heart.  The  third  question  held  the  horror  of 
the  Unknown.  He  strained  his  head  forward  to  listen 
attentively. 

"How  many  children,"  the  Lady  asked  in  Yiddish, 
"have  you  under"  (jerking  her  thumb  downward) 
"fourteen  years  of  age,  and  how  many  children  have 
you  over"  (jerking  her  thumb  upward)  "fourteen  years 
of  age?"  She  put  the  question  very  slowly,  stressing 
each  word,  allowing  time  for  beads  of  perspiration  to 
break  out  on  the  man's  anxious  face  and  for  his  heart 
to  beat  so  rapidly  that  his  attention  was  divided  be- 
tween what  she  asked  and  that  organ.  When  finally 
she  completed  the  question  and  he  quite  grasped  it,  he 
experienced  the  greatest  relief.  He  took  a  deep  breath. 
Inoffensive  as  this  act  may  be  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, it  can  have  a  most  irritating  effect  upon  a  Lady 
waiting,  whose  business  it  is  to  elicit  replies  at  maxi- 
mum speed.  The  Lady  moved  nervously  in  her  chair 
and  drew  up  her  toes  inside  her  shoes.  The  man,  feel- 
ing her  exacerbation,  desired  to  say  the  right  thing 
quickly,  but  as  nothing  can  so  readily  make  a  clean 
sweep  of  intelligence  as  nervousness,  he  began  enumer- 
ating :  "Lebe  is  not  yet  ten "  he  stopped  for  breath — 

"Yudel  is  already  eleven "    He  took  another  breath. 

The  Lady's  demeanor  evinced  increasing  impatience. 
Schmuel  Rothenberg,  thinking  to  make  haste,  enumer- 
ated more  hurriedly. 


ELIAS  63 

"Bashele  should  live  and  be  well."  Bashele  was  the 
ailing  youngest. 

"How "   began   the   Lady,   interrupting  him,   but 

Schmuel  Rothenberg  humbly  pleaded : 

"Oh,  Lady,  Lady,  wait  a  minute."  She  waited.  Run- 
ning his  tongue  over  his  upper  lip  and  raising  his 
shoulders,  as  if  taking  a  new  lease  on  energy,  he  wenf 
on,  his  knees  shaking: 

"Bashele  is  three  years — and  two  older — oldest  died, 
may  it  never  happen  to  you!"  Sadness  came  into  the 
man's  eyes;  he  looked  down  at  his  feet. 

"Have  you  any  children  over  fourteen  years?"  The 
Lady  asked,  relaxing  from  sheer  fatigue. 

"I  have— that  is,  I  had " 

This  was  too  much  for  human  endurance. 

"Oh,  for  goodness'  sake!"  the  Lady  exclaimed  as 
loudly  as  she  dared,  bearing  the  Department  Head  in 
mind. 

"Lady — Lady "     Schmuel  Rothenberg's  tone  and 

the  anxious  expression  of  his  face  would  have  melted  a 
heart  harder  than  the  Lady's. 

"Can't  you  answer  a  single  question  straight?"  she 
fairly  begged. 

"Yes,  yes,  Lady,"  Schmuel  Rothenberg  assured  her, 
not  understanding  a  single  word,  knowing  only  there 
was  pleading  in  her  voice.  Suddenly  his  nervousness 
left  him  completely,  as  so  often  happens  when  people 
are  roused  to  a  point  beyond  themselves,  and  he  an- 
swered without  further  hesitancy : 

"The  other  children  died ;  the  four  are  all  younger." 

"Thank  God!"  the  Lady  exclaimed  with  so  much  sar- 
casm that  some  in  the  line  smiled  and  more  daring  ones 
laughed. 


64  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

To  Schmuel  Rothenberg  it  appeared  that  she  thanked 
God  because  his  children  had  died.  He  winced  and 
dropped  his  eyes. 

"What  is  your  trader" 

"Nothing." 

The  Lady  placed  him  on  the  list  of  "Useful  Men," 
wrote  something  on  a  ticket,  gave  it  to  him,  and  told 
him  to  come  the  next  day. 

"To-morrow!  Not  to-day?"  There  was  keen  dis- 
appointment in  the  man's  voice.  Schmuel  Rothenberg's 
life  was  a  perpetual  animal  terror  as  to  mere  livelihood. 

From  the  Lady's  face  it  was  clear  he  was  to  move 
on  and  make  room  for  the  next.  He  moved  on,  medita- 
tively repeating  "To-morrow!"  as  he  slowly  walked  out 

of  the  room. 

******* 

Before  long  the  Department  Head  decided  to  forrri 
two  lines  of  the  remaining  applicants,  and  Sarah  was 
among  the  first  to  be  interrogated. 

"I  grew  hot  and  cold,"  she  said,  "but  my  Lady  was 
really  a  nice  girl,  a  golden  girl.  She  talked  with  me 
as  if  she  was  an  old  friend  who  had  known  me  all 
her  life.  She  wants  me  to  work  in  her  house  Sundays, 
and  will  give  me  two  more  Ladies." 

Did  Sarah  have  to  go  back  there?  This  concerned 
Elias,  distressed  by  her  tales  beyond  any  interest  in  her 
success. 

It  now  came  Sarah's  turn  to  exclaim  with  the  Lady's 
fervor:  "Thank  God!"  No,  she  did  not  have  to  go 
back. 

The  finality  of  her  tone  must  have  been  sport  for 
the  Fates. 


ELIAS  65 

"And  Mira,  did  she  wait  for  you?" 

"Yes,  and  lucky,  too,  because  I  had  such  a  pain  in 
my  side  that  I  had  to  go  to  her  home  and  lie  down." 

For  a  time  neither*  Sarah  nor  Elias  spoke.  Then 
Sarah,  examining-  her*  apron  as  if  for  some  definite 
purpose,  said  reflectively: 

"I  felt  when  I  left  there  as  if  I  had  been  spilt  with 
pamoonitza  (slops).  And  that  is  for  work.  How  must 
it  be  when  one  comes  for  money!"  She  shuddered. 
Elias  looked  at  her  attentively. 

"Then  after  that  I  came  home  to  find  the  stench  of 
kerosene."  Sarah  looked  at  Minnie  asleep  on  the  lounge, 
and  sighed.  "I  nearly  killed  her."  How  Sarah's  heart 
ached ! 

The  two  younger  children  were  playing  marbles  on 
the  floor.  In  a  farther  corner  of  the  room,  ink  on  the 
floor  and  his  geography  book  on  his  lap  serving  as  a 
desk,  Jacob  sat  studying  his  lessons. 

As  the  supper  dishes  had  not  yet  been  cleared  away, 
Sarah  rose  to  go  about  her  tasks.  Elias  from  diffidence 
checked  his  impulse  to  help  her;  instead  he  brought  in 
the  bedding  from  the  fire  escape.  Later  they  sat  down, 
and  Elias  read  aloud  the  day's  news. 

At  bed  time,  Jacob,  at  Elias'  instructions,  helped  to 
set  up  the  cots,  as  Minnie  was  still  asleep.  When  Sarah 
went  to  undress  her,  Minnie  woke  up.  "I'll  get  un- 
dressed by  myself,"  she  said  testily,  drawing  away  from 
her  mother  and  feeling  her  nose.  Sarah's  eyes  filled 
with  tears ;  she  turned  away. 

Amid  childish  pranks  and  laughter,  Elias  put  the  two 
younger  ones  to  bed.  Then  he  himself  retired.  Soon  all 
was  still. 


66  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Mrs.  Ratkin,  passing  as  she  extinguished  the  gas  in 
the  hall,  thought  sneeringly: 

"God  be  thanked,  it  is  quiet  here."  Sing-Sing  had 
effected  a  cure.  But  what  a  measure!  A  blight  never 
to  be  lived  down. 


XII 


The  following  Sunday  Sarah  did  her  first  day's  work 
at  the  "golden"  Lady's  home.  It  was  a  modest  apart- 
ment shared  by  several  girls.  Sarah  was  to  do  the 
week's  washing  and  Grand  Cleaning,  as  the  girls  who 
went  out  to  work  could  do  only  makeshift  cleaning  dur- 
ing the  week. 

Ella  Liebman,  the  "golden"  Lady,  gave  Sarah,  as  she 
had  promised,  the  names  of  two  other  Ladies  who  had 
applied  to  the  Charities  Employment  Bureau  for  "a 
nice  woman,  one  who  would  appreciate  kind  treatment." 

On  her  second  Sunday  at  Miss  Liebman's  Sarah  de- 
scribed her  other  employers.  Mrs.  Finkelstein,  who  en- 
gaged her  for  Tuesdays,  was  "a  simple,  nice  woman," 
she  said ;  while  Mrs.  Roth,  who  kept  a  servant  for  the 
general  housework  and  for  whom  she  was  to  do  wash- 
ing on  Thursdays,  was  "a  high-tone  Americaner."  Mrs. 
Roth  had  insisted  on  Fridays.  "On  Fridays  I  have  my 
own  Sabbath  to  make,"  said  Sarah,  to  whose  proud  na- 
ture neglecting  Sabbath  preparation  meant  a  diminution 
of  family  dignity.  It  was  one  of  Sarah's  inconsistencies 
that,  little  as  she  felt  for  the  Sabbath,  she  never  missed 
making  the  special  preparations  for  it,  as  had  her 
mother  before  her. 

Mrs.  Roth  was,  indeed,  the  sort  of  person  whose 
generosity  follows  the  pattern  of  generosity  set  by  Fate 


ELIAS  67 

itself.  For  Sarah,  coming  from  the  Charities — evidence 
of  humblest  position  and  possession — Mrs.  Roth  deemed 
it  proper  that  the  normal  working  day  should  be 
lengthened  by  two  hours  and  the  normal  wages  cur- 
tailed by  twenty-five  cents.  In  her  opinion,  a  charity 
subject  who  dictated  the  terms  of  a  benefaction  was  an 
ingrate. 

Sarah,  when  applying  to  Mrs.  Roth,  timidly  told  her 
that  the  Charities  Lady  paid  her  one  dollar  for  the  day 
and  kept  her  only  until  four  o'clock,  thus  giving  her  time 
to  prepare  her  own  family's  supper.  Mrs.  Roth,  mildly 
annoyed,  wondered  by  what  right  Miss  Liebman  set  the 
standard  of  hours  and  wages,  and  became  at  once  skep- 
tical as  to  Sarah's  niceness.  However,  she  acceded  to 
the  terms,  but  with  a  gingerliness  that  did  not  escape 
Sarah's  sensitive  perceptions. 

'  Once  prejudiced,  Mrs.  Roth  adopted  a  consistently 
supercilious  manner.  She  refrained  from  greeting 
Sarah  at  either  her  coming  or  going,  and  looked  beyond 
her  when  she  entered  the  room  in  which  Sarah  stood 
washing  the  clothes.  Sarah  never  left  Mrs.  Roth  with- 
out being  greatly  wrought  up. 

At  the  end  of  a  number  of  weeks,  during  which  she 
regularly  poured  out  the  tale  of  her  grievances  to  Miss 
Liebman,  who  listened  with  a  social  worker's  sympathy 
for  the  types  of  Sarah,  she  came  one  Sunday  more  than 
usually  excited.  It  appeared  that  the  previous  Thurs- 
day Sarah  had  informed  Mrs.  Roth  she  had  a  pain  in 
her  side  and  could  not  do  her  washing;  that  Mrs.  Roth 
had  remonstrated  emphatically: 

"A  pain  in  the  side !  Goodness,  that  is  not  so  awful ! 
/  get  a  pain  in  my  side,  too."  Sarah  was  about  to 
agree  to  do  her  lighter  washing  when  the  lady  added : 


68  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"A  poor  woman  should  not  be  so  particular."  Sarah 
was  up  in  arms. 

"You  can  do  your  own  washing!"  she  flung  out. 
While  making  for  the  door  she  heard: 

"The  impudence  of  these  people !  A  little  pain  in  the 
side  and  they  cannot  do  a  speck  of  washing !  And  when 
her  child,  her  Bubbele,  had  a  tiny  cold,  she  did  not  come 
at  all.  These  people  are,  honestly,  more  particular  about 
themselves  than  we  are  about  ourselves  and  our 
children." 

"God  save  me  from  such  other  ladies!"  Sarah  said 
to  Miss  Liebman,  and  added :  "After  all,  am  I  not  a 
woman  just  like  she  is?  And  if  my  side  hurts,  must 
it  hurt  less  than  hers  because  it  is  my  side?  Should 
one  woman  not  sympathize  with  another  woman?  Am 
I  made  of  wood  and  she  of  gold?  Fui!"  Sarah  bent 
lower  over  the  washtub.  Miss  Liebman  looked  at  hei* 
quizzically.  "She  is  a  high-tone  lady.  From  home  we 
are  not  from  the  garbage-can  either."  Sarah  sighed  and 
rubbed  harder,  wishing  all  manner  of  ill  luck  on  the 
Sabbath. 

Sarah's  version  of  the  Mrs.  Roth  incident  as  com- 
municated to  Elias  contained  the  additional  reflection 
that  the  woman  was  a  pastkootsvte  (an  ugly,  nasty 
one)  :  upon  saying  which  she  spit  vehemently  into  the 
sink  and  secretly  hoped  Elias  was  feeling  as  badly  as 
she. 

One  Sunday  later  Miss  Liebman  asked  Sarah  if  she 
cared  to  take  another  place. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  do  not  want  another  Mrs.  Roth." 
After  a  moment's  silence  she  added  musingly:  "When 
the  children  will  need  shoes  again,  it  will  be  hard." 
Suddenly,  with  a  rueful  grimace  she  added :  "Oh,  let 


ELIAS  69 

God  worry  a  little."     She  looked  up.     They   laughed. 

Miss  Liebman  was  growing  fond  of  Sarah. 
******* 

And  God  must  have  Worried ;  the  need-for-shoes  period 
brought  its  own  solution. 

By  some  providence  the  butcher  in  the  neighborhood 
was  bereft  of  his  wife,  who  ever)'  Friday  had  plucked 
the  chickens.  In  his  predicament  he  recalled  that  Sarah 
had  often  taken  meat  on  trust  and  decided  she  might  be 
glad  to  make  a  little  extra  money.  Sarah  eagerly  ac- 
cepted the  work,  which  was  to  be  done  in  the  very  early 
morning  hours  on  Fridays  and  the  days  preceding  the 
Holy  Days.  Minnie,  "a  smart  girl,"  could  help,  as  the 
butcher  suggested. 

The  period  of  greater  affluence  for  the  Mendels 
brought  greater  peace,  but  not  according  to  the  wagging 
of  Mrs.  Ratkin's  tongue.  Through  that  censorious  me- 
dium Sarah's  character  remained  as  black  as  ever  with 
the  neighbors,  who  were  predisposed  to  antagonism  be- 
cause of  Sarah's  standoffishness,  which  they  miscon- 
strued as  an  assumption  of  superiority,  whereas  it 
sprang  from  diffidence  and  a  desire  to  hide  her  home 
difficulties. 

How  was  it,  then,  that  Sarah  raised  her  voice  so  loud 
that  neighbors  could  hear,  and  resorted  to  the  publicity 
of  a  court  scene? 

Who  shall  stand  in  judgment  on  a  human  being  at  his 
wits'  end?  Only  he  who  would  call  the  drowning  man 
who  catches  at  a  straw  a  fool. 

XITI 

On  an  afternoon  three  months  later,  the  quarter  gas 
meter  in  the  Mendel  household  burned  low,  and  Sarah' 


70  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

was  without  the  quarter  necessary  to  brace  it.  She  was 
in  a  quandary,  the  supper  was  only  half  cooked.  Count 
as  many  times  as  she  would,  the  loose  change  in  the 
home  treasury  aggregated  only  twenty-two  cents.  Pres- 
ently she  thought  of  an  old  kerosene  stove  which  had 
been  put  away  under  the  bed,  never  to  be  used  again. 
There  was  kerosene  in  the  house,  and  the  stove  might 
work  well  enough  to  finish  the  meal  on  anyway.  With 
much  effort  she  extracted  it  and  carried  it  into  the  room- 
oT-all-affairs.  She  gave  it  a  thorough  cleaning,  and  with 
the  aid  of  a  broken  saucer  got  it  to  stand  firmly  on  the 
coal  stove.  Then  she  found  there  was  not  a  match  in 
the  house!  She  looked  down  in  the  yard  for  Minnie, 
intending  to  send  her  to  the  grocery  store  for  matches. 
The  child  was  not  to  be  seen.  Sarah  had  just  about  re- 
signed herself  to  the  descent  and  ascent  of  the  four 
flights  of  stairs,  when  the  door  burst  open  and  a  very 
excited  Minnie  and  a  wildly  barking  Foxy  dashed  in. 
One  would  have  thought  a  deadly  enemy  was  in  pursuit. 

"What's  the  matter?"  cried  Sarah.  The  child  stuck 
her  thumb  in  her  mouth  and  lowered  her  head.  Sarah, 
too  preoccupied  with  her  own  plight,  did  not  press  for 
an  explanation.  She  told  Minnie  to  go  on  the  errand. 

"I  don'  wanna,"  Minnie  whimpered. 

"You  don't  want  to?    Why? 

"Abie " 

"Abie  what?" 

"Abie's  down  by  the  yard,  and  I  have  afraid." 

"Children's  nonsense,"  thought  Sarah  glancing  down 
in  the  yard  again.  "He's  not  there.  Don't  look  in  the 
yard.  Run  right  out,"  she  urged  Minnie  gently. 

The  child,  sensing  her  mother's  weariness,  consented 
to  go,  though  as  she  descended  the  stairs  and  ran 


ELI  AS  71 

through  the  hall,  she  was  in  mortal  terror  of  encounter- 
ing Abie. 

A  little  while  before  she  had  gone  down  to  the  yard 
to  play  with  Foxy.  Abie  standing  in  the  doorway  of 
the  rear  tenement  had  instantly  hailed  her  with  "Hello, 
Fights !"  Whether  Abie  called  her  Fights  "for  fun"  or 
"for  fair"  made  no  difference  to  Minnie ;  the  epithet 
jarred  her  sensibilities.  She  always  colored  and  experi- 
enced a  moment  of  helplessness,  which  ended  in  a  weak 
order  to  Abie  to  "shut  up."  This  time  in  the  moment 
of  her  helplessness  she  wavered  between  stooping  down 
to  Foxy  and  looking  over  at  Abie.  She  looked  at  Abie. 
His  smile  obviously  declared  he  meant  "Hello,  Fights" 
for  fun.  Nevertheless  Minnie  ordered  him  to  "shut 

up "  but  shyly,  hesitatingly,  as  she  was  not  in  a  mood 

for  a  squabble.  Abie,  however,  had  no  ear  for  subtleties. 
"Fights,"  he  repeated  just  to  tease,  coming  closer. 

"I  tell  you,  shut  up!"  shouted  Minnie  stamping  her 
foot. 

Foxy,  scenting  a  fray,  assumed  a  belligerent  attitude. 

"Don*  che  say  like  that,"  Abie  warned  with  a  superior 
flutter  of  his  eyelids,  annoyed  at  Minnie's  inability  to 
take  his  teasing  and  giving  her  a  scornful  look  as  she 
edged  away  from  him. 

"So  don'  you!" 

"Uh,  it's  fooling.     Don'  che  know  fooling — Fights!" 

Tears  of  anger  and  impotence  came  to  her  eyes;  her 
little  heart  fluttered  and  her  chest  heaved.  Abie  was  a 
"murder." 

Gathering  Foxy  up  in  her  arms  she  made  hastily  for 
the  front  tenement.  Suddenly  she  faced  about. 

"You  shut  up!"  she  cried,  her  face  deeply  flushed. 
"Shut  up,  or — or  I'll  sig'm  on  you!"  Her  threat  was 


72  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

weak  and  the  grand  finale,  uttered  in  a  choked  voice, 
was  even  weaker.  <rYou — bum— you !" 

Yet  the  thrust  went  home.  It  aroused  Abie's  wrath; 
his  eyes  threatened  dire  consequences.  Instantly  Min- 
nie resorted  to  aggressive  self-defense. 

"Sig'm,  Foxy,  sig'm!" 

Foxy,  with  a  fine  sense  of  loyalty,  had  already  dis- 
engaged himself  from  Minnie's  hold  and  was  barking 
menacingly.  He  darted  in  a  semi-circle  towards  Abie, 
which  plainly  promised  defense  of  his  mistress,  right 
or  wrong.  At  Minnie's  second  bidding  Foxy  sprang 
upon  Abie.  Whereupon  Minnie,  womanlike,  recalled 
him. 

Abie,  though  in  truth  frightened,  pretended  contempt 
for  her  kindly  intervention. 

"Aw,  mind  your  business,"  he  said. 

"You  should  die  in  a  black  coffin  wid  your  mama  and 
your  papa  together!" 

Abie's  next  strategic  move,  Minnie  rapidly  decided, 
would  be  one  which  would  make  it  wiser  for  her  to 
seek  immediate  safety.  At  full  speed  she  dashed  to- 
ward the  door  of  the  front  tenement.  Foxy's  loyalty 
could  no  longer  bear  restraint.  He  snapped  at  Abie's 
legs,  which  legs,  in  the  teeth  of  actuality,  were  com- 
pelled to  relax  in  their  furtive  effort  to  bar  Minnie's 
race  to  safety.  It  so  happened,  too,  that  Abie  stumbled, 
landing  on  the  palm  of  his  hands  and  the  tip  of  his 
nose  just  grazing  the  front  tenement  threshold.  Foxy 
jumped  blithely  over  his  form  and  barking  triumphantly 
joined  his  mistress  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs. 

Abie,  from  his  prostrate  position,  in  the  knowledge 
that  he  was  the  loser,  hurled  defiantly: 

"Fights,  Fights!     Your  mama  and  your  papa  fights 


ELIAS  73 

like  Irish  bums.  You  got  your  papa  arrested.  You 
made  believe  he  was  by  your  cousin  in  Brooklyn. 
Fights  I" 

Minnie  powerless  to  retort  rapidly  mounted  the  stairs 
followed  by  Foxy. 

Abie  picking  himself  up  removed  a  splinter  from  his 
finger  and  felt  of  the  bruised  tip  of  his  nose.  He  stood 
in  meditation  from  which  he  was  roused  presently  by 
an  imperative  call: 

"Abie,  Abie!" 

Abie  sent  his  gaze  up  the  impertinent  height  of  the 
rear  tenement  and  beheld  the  face  of  his  mother. 

"Wha'  do  you  wan'?" 

"Kom  up  stez  en  go  buy  ah  pickle." 

"Aw  say,  mama !"  He  hesitated  a  moment ;  then  his 
pent-up  anger  burst.  "Kom  up  stez  and  go  buy  ah 
pickle,"  he  mimicked.  Instantly  he  realized  his  mis- 
demeanor and  the  possibly  disastrous  consequences. 
"Aw,  ma,  always  me.  Can'  che  send  the  other  ones 
once?"  he  cried  sulkily. 

"Abie!"  There  was  that  in  his  mother's  tone  which 
carried  the  threat:  "Wait  till  your  papa  comes  home." 
Abie  had  no  great  fondness  for  the  prehistoric  custom 
to  which  his  father  resorted,  especially  since  the  inno- 
vation of  a  five-tongue  strap  had  added  decided  physical 
discomfort  to  the  original  humility  of  the  operation. 

"Aw,  ma,  I'm  tired,"  he  wailed.  But  he  made  for 
the  rear  tenement.  His  mother  withdrew  her  head 
from  the  window. 

Properly  financed,  Abie  was  soon  retracing  his  steps 
to  purchase  the  pickle  for  the  family  supper. 

Meanwhile,  as  we  know,  Minnie's  mother  had  dele- 
gated her  purchasing  agent  of  a  box  of  matches.  The 


74  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

two  belligerents  met  in  the  grocery  store.  At  sight  of 
Abie,  Minnie  was  alarmed.  She  moved  closer  to  the 
store-keeper.  But  Abie  was  now  in  a  different  mood. 
He  followed  Minnie  and  hal f- whispered :  "I  ain'  gonna 
hi'  che.  Don'  be  afraid."  Minnie  showed  no  confidence. 
He  added  reassuringly:  "I  should  live  so,  I  ain'  gonna 
hi'  che."  Though  her  skepticism  was  somewhat  allayed, 
Minnie  remained  unwilling  to  risk  too  close  proximity. 
Even  on  the  street  she  lagged  a  trifle  behind.  But  when 
Abie  sincerely  asked  her,  apropos  of  nothing  and  quite 
as  if  there  had  been  no  rupture  in  their  relationship: 
"Say,  Minn,  who  do  you  like  bedder,  your  mama  or 
your  papa?"  she  relaxed  entirely. 

"Both,"  she  answered  with  an  air  of  defiance. 

"But  I  mean,  if  God  would  ask  you  who  He  should 
make  die  first,  your  mama  or  your  papa,  who  would 
you  say?" 

"Not  neither  my  mama  or  my  papa." 

Abie  manifested  his  impatience  by  an  especial  twist 
of  his  body,  reserved  for  just  such  trying  moments. 
Minnie  slipped  a  few  inches  behind. 

"Aw,  I  ain'  gonna  hi'  che,  crazy.  But  I  mean  first, 
'Not  neither'  ain'  no  'first/  " 

Minnie  inhaled  deeply.  She  meant  to  hold  to  her 
point.  Bobbing  her  head  for  emphasis,  she  repeated: 
"I  like  my  mama  and  my  papa." 

Abie  expressed  his  vast  contempt  of  this  miniature 
female  by  disdainfully  mimicking  in  falsetto: 

"I  like  my  mama  and  my  papa."  It  occurred  to  him 
to  demonstrate  by  masculine  precept,  and  he  told  her 
to  ask  him  whom  he  liked  better,  his  father  or  his 
mother.  Minnie  kept  quiet.  "Well,"  Abie  reiterated, 
"ask  me!" 


ELIAS  75 

Here  the  pickle  divorced  itself  from  its  wrapping  and 
dropped  to  the  slanting  sidewalk : 

"Oo !  Oo !"  cried  Minnie,  wringing  her  hands.  "Your 
papa'll  murder  you !" 

Abie,  with  his  foot  intercepted  the  pickle  as  it  was 
rolling  into  the  gutter,  and  with  his  dirty  hand  brushed 
off  the  dirt  it  had  gathered.  When  it  was  restored  to  its 
wrapping,  he  answered  Minnie :  "No,  he  won't,"  his 
voice,  however,  carrying  no  conviction.  Minnie  took  up 
the  conversation  where  it  had  been  broken  off  and  asked 
rather  weakly : 

"Who  do  you  like  bedder,  Abie,  your  mama  or  your 
papa  ?" 

Abie,  recalled  to  a  lively  sense  of  his  father's  hard  hand 
by  Minnie's  cry,  "Your  papa'll  murder  you,"  forgot  that 
he  was  to  demonstrate  by  precept  and  answer  with  a  sim- 
ple "I  like  my  mama  bedder."  Shuffling  the  dust  under 
his  feet,  he  said  in  an  aggrieved  tone : 

"I  don'  like  my  papa  anyhow.  All  the  time  he  licks 
me."  Abie's  tone  caused  Minnie  to  look  sideways  at 
him.  Sincerity  is  never  lost  on  children.  Abie  went 
on  musingly:  "I'll  get  him  arrested." 

Minnie  started  as  from  a  galvanic  shock.  "Oo,  don* 
che,"  she  cut  in,  "don*  che  never."  She  stopped  still 
and  confronted  him. 

"I  will  so.    Wha'  do  you  care?" 

Minnie  saw  Abie  already  rushing  into  the  teeth  of 
this  calamity.  Her  little  heart  went  through  a  spasm  of 
terror. 

"The  policemans  is  fresh  things.  They  pull  your 
papa,"  she  said  earnestly.  Abie  made  no  rejoinder. 
"They  pulled  my  papa." 

"Yeh?"    He  gave  her  a  swift  inquisitive  glance. 

Realizing  she  had  confirmed  Abie's  suspicion  of  the 


76  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

family  skeleton,  Minnie  turned  self-conscious;  she  stuck 
her  thumb  in  her  mouth  and  lowered  her  eyes.  They 
walked  on  in  silence.  Soon  Abie  said  contemplatively: 

"Let  'em  pull.  He  licks  me.  He  murders  me  for 
nothin'.  " 

On  the  score  of  "murderings"  Minnie  was  exceedingly 
sympathetic.  Though  corporal  punishment  was  not  in- 
cluded in  the  bill  of  miseries  of  the  Mendel  children 
(the  once  when  Sarah  struck  Minnie  was  the  rare  ex- 
ception), Minnie  had  sufficient  imagination  to  divine  the 
horrific  import  of  the  shrill  shrieks  that  issued  from 
other  homes  in  the  tenements. 

Minnie  was  preoccupied  and  made  no  reply.  Abie 
asked  sotta  voce\ 

"Will  you  show  me  where?" 

Minnie  looked  thoughtfully  at  him,  then  spoke.  What 
she  said  was  so  utterly  irrelevant  that  he  stared  as 
though  she  had  gone  crazy. 

"So  let's  us  get  married,"  she  said  just  so. 

The  question  of  marriage  between  them  had  been 
broached  before,  but  always  by  Abie.  Minnie  only  sought 
diversion  now  from  the  subject  that  had  inveigled  her 
into  an  admission  of  a  family  skeleton. 

Abie  was  thoroughly  disgusted  with  the  irrelevancy 
and  its  author. 

"Uh,  crazy,  don'  che  know  only  big  peoples  dass  get 
married  like  your  mama  and  your  papa  ?  CRAZY  CAT !" 

"I  mean,"  she  said  a  little  ashamed  that  she  was 
lacking  in  knowledge  on  this  subject  whereas  Abie 
seemed  to  be  very  wise,  "when  like  to-morrow  and  over- 
to-morrow,  like  ten  years,  then  we  dass  can." 

"We  dass  if  we  wanna,"  quoth  Abie,  with  a  sapient 
nod  of  his  head. 

Hitherto,  whenever  Abie  had  asked  her  if  she  would 


ELIAS  77 

marry  him  when  he  "got  a  man"  her  reply  had  been  the 
provisional  one,  "Yeh,  if  you'll  be  a  teacher." 

Glad  now  of  an  avenue  of  escape,  Minnie  exclaimed 
unconditionally : 

"Yeh,  I  wanna." 

They  reached  the  stairs  of  the  front  tenement.  Minnie 
began  skippingly  to  ascend.  Abie  proceeded  to  the  yard, 
from  where  he  called  back  sing-song: 

"MI— IN!" 

Minnie  stopped  at  the  middle  of  the  first  flight. 

"Wha'  do  you  wan'?" 

"Come  back."  Minnie  turned  about.  They  met  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"I  forgot,"  said  he.  "To-morrow,  so  will  you  show 
me  by  the  court?" 

She  succumbed  to  his  more  masterful  will.  "If  you 
don'  tell  out,"  she  said  softly. 

"Uh,"  he  replied,  mistaking  her  meaning.  "I  knowed 
all  the  time,  only  I  didn't  said  ever,  because  my  mama 
told  me  I  dassn't.  My  mama  sawn  you  go  into  the  court 
wid  her  own  eyes.  She  told  my  papa  by  the  night." 

Minnie,  unable  to  meet  the  situation,  stuck  her  thumb 
in  her  mouth.  After  a  perceptible  pause  she  argued 
weakly : 

"But  they  don'  fights  no  more."  Her  head  was  low- 
ered; she  looked  at  him  shamefacedly. 

"To-morrow,  so  will  you  show  me  by  the  court?" 
he  asked  again. 

"Aw  right,  to-morrow,"  she  promised  faintly. 

"Aw  right."  Abie  was  satisfied.  They  turned  on 
their  respective  ways ;  but  in.  a  moment  he  called  again : 

"MI-IN!" 

"Wha'  do  you  wan'?1 


;S  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"Don'  tell  nobody.    It's  gonna  be  a  secret." 
Minnie  waited  a  second.    "Aw  right,  yeh,  no,  I  won'," 
she  promised,  and  skipped  along. 

XIV 

The  Ratkins'  two-room  dwelling  on  the  top  floor  was 
identical  with  the  Mendels'.  The  furnishings  of  the 
room-of -all-affairs  comprised  one  large  table,  one  small 
table,  four  wooden  chairs,  a  dilapidated  green  plush 
lounge,  a  gas  stove,  and  a  coal  stove.  The  interior  dec- 
orations consisted  of  a  small  looking-glass  hanging  on 
the  wall  between  the  two  windows,  just  as  at  the  Men- 
dels',  and  several  enlarged  colored  photographs  of  de- 
ceased relatives — relics  of  the  Ratkins'  affluent  days. 
THe  furnishings  of  the  bedroom  were  a  bed,  a  cot,  a 
chair  and  a  wooden  egg-box  for  the  family  linens.  On 
the  floor  reposed  another  remnant  of  their  better  days, 
a  mat  on  which  a  white,  straight-backed  dog  sat  stiffly 
planted  on  a  bright  green  background. 

The  series  of  misfortunes  which  brought  the  Ratkins 
down  in  the  world  began  with  the  loss,  in  quick  suc- 
cession, of  three  children,  which  left  them  with  only 
Abie  and  a  pair  of  twin  girls  of  eight.  After  that, 
as  so  often  happens,  there  followed  difficulties  one  upon 
the  other,  topped  by  a  severe  illness  in  Mr.  Ratkin, 
whicR,  truth  to  tell,  left  him  slightly  unbalanced. 
Mrs.  Ratkin  had  been  compelled  to  become  janitress  of 
the  two  tenements.  When  Mr.  Ratkin  finally  recovered 
sufficiently  to  work,  he  went  into  the  business  of  rag- 
picking  and  cashing  old  clothes  in  order  to  be  able  to 
carry  out  his  physician's  prescription  to  stay  in  the 
"fresh  air." 


ELIAS  79 

Mr.  Ratkin's  odd  sing-song  cry,  "I  cash  clothes!"  was 
a  source  of  amusement  to  Blast  Side  urchins  while  to 
older  folks  it  proclaimed  him  a  "crazy  man."  To  the 
latter  Mr.  Ratkin  was  indifferent ;  and  as  for  the  former, 
the  greater  the  number  that  followed  him  from  street 
to  street  and  the  more  heartily  they  laughed,  the  greater 
was  his  pleasure  and  the  more  of  the  Gemorrah  sing- 
song did  he  put  into  his  tune. 

Mrs.  Ratkin  was  busy  washing  and  combing  the  hair 
of  the  twins  when  Abie  returned  with  the  pickle.  "Woe 
is  me,"  she  cried,  "what  took  you  so  long?  Always 
when  I  send  you  somewhere  it  takes  you  a  year  to  re- 
turn. You  loaf  around " 

"Aw,  mama!"  growled  Abie,  in  no  mood  to  be  toler- 
ant of  criticism. 

Mrs.  Ratkin  remained  indifferent  to  her  son's  mood. 
"How  long  does  it  take  to  go  to  the  grocery  store 
and  back?"  she  nagged.  "A  year?  You  go  and  you 
come — not " 

"Mama,  you  make  me  sick,"  her  son  interrupted,  then 
added  sulkily  to  avert  the  outburst  that  her  expression 
portended : 

"Aw,  lemme  alone,"  and  walked  into  the  bedroom. 

The  bedroom  was  his  place  of  refuge  when  under 
attack  by  either  parent.  For  the  ceremony  of  a  beating, 
Mr.  Ratkin  always  had  to  extricate  his  son  from  the 
mass  of  junk  under  the  bed ;  the  space  under 
the  bed  served  the  Ratkins  as  it  did  other 
East  Siders  as  a  garret.  It  was  here  that  Abie 
had  formulated  plans  for  seeking  vengeance  upon  his 
father  for  his  brutality.  His  mother's  gossip  about  the 
Mendels  had  sowed  the  seed  of  retribution. 

For  some  time  Mrs.  Ratkin  silently  concentrated  her 


8o  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

energies  on  her  daughter's  heads,  saturating  their  hair 
with  sugar  water  and  twisting  it  into  a  row  of  perfectly 
made  curls.  The  feat  accomplished,  she  held  them  at 
arm's  length  and  surveyed  them  with  pride  and  pleasure. 
Removing  the  combings  from  the  comb,  she  ordered 
Abie  to  go  set  the  table  for  supper  as  Mr.  Ratkin  would 
soon  be  coming  home,  then  to  sweep  the  floor  and 
straighten  the  chairs.  ...  In  not  discriminating  in 
favor  of  the  male  of  the  species,  the  Ratkin  household 
was  an  exception  to  most  Jewish  households.  The  men 
had  to  do  housework.  Mrs.  Ratkin  could  not  "tear  her- 
self to  pieces."  "To  be  a  janitor  is  enough  for  one 
piece  of  a  woman,"  she  would  say.  Mr.  Ratkin  thought 
it  was  best  to  humor  her  on  that  score;  he  helped  and 
he  compelled  his  son  to  do  the  same. 

Abie  set  the  table.  Service  with  the  Ratkins  also 
was  a  simple  affair.  When  soup  was  served  each  was 
given  an  individual  plate.  For  "dry"  meals  Mr.  Ratkin 
alone  was  so  graced,  and  Abie  and  the  twins  ate  from 
pieces  of  newspaper,  while  Mrs.  Ratkin,  dispensing  en- 
tirely with  "the  middle  man,"  consumed  directly  from 
the  pot. 

At  six  o'clock  Mr.  Ratkin  returned  from  his  day  of 
rags  and  old  clothes  besmirched  and  perspiring.  Surely 
the  unquestioning  devotion  of  children  is  touching! 
The  twins  rushed  to  their  half-witted  father  and  clung 
to  him  ardently.  Even  Abie,  who  had  suffered  a  severe 
licking  at  his  hands  the  night  before,  sang  out  a  cordial 
"hello."  Mrs.  Ratkin  was  even  effusive  in  her  greeting. 
She  and  her  husband,  in  fact,  were  happily  mated.  Mr. 
Ratkin  took  her  scoldings  and  naggings  good-naturedly. 
Only  upon  Abie  did  Mr.  Ratkin  practice  head-of-the- 
house  discipline.  He  was  determined  that  his  son  should 


ELIAS  81 

"grow  up  a  person"  even  if  he,  the  father,  had  to  kill 
the  boy  to  effect  it.  Whereas  about  his  wife  Mr.  Ration 
would  say  good  naturedly :  "Is  schon  far  fallen,"  mean- 
ing his  discipline  would  avail  nothing.  And  Abie,  his 
boy  spirits  cramped  within  the  confines  of  a  pig  pen, 
was  indeed  a  trial. 

Mr.  Ratkin  washed  and  spluttered  and  every  now  and 
then  stopped  to  remark  upon  some  trifle.  Soon  supper 
was  served.  Mr.  Ratkin  was  the  first  to  taste  of  the 
pickle.  "Pooh,"  cried  he,  spitting  out. 

Abie  stole  a  swift  glance  at  his  father's  wry  face. 
At  the  same  moment  Mrs.  Ratkin  emptied  her  mouth- 
ful. Immediately  the  twins  did  the  same.  They  all 
made  wry  faces.  Poor  Abie  edged  away  from  his 
father,  and  when  Mr.  Ratkin  made  a  slight  move  in  his 
chair,  he  recoiled  so  violently  that  Mr.  Ratkin  was  given 
a  clue.  Aha! 

"Who  went  for  the  pickle?"  he  demanded,  looking 
at  his  son  sideways.  "The  sonny,  I  suppose."  He 
turned  his  full  face  upon  the  boy. 

"Woe  is  me!"  cried  Mrs.  Ratkin,  who  had  also  made 
a  shrewd  guess.  "It  must  have  fallen  in  the  gutter." 

Abie  sprang  to  his  feet  and  made  a  dash  for  safety. 

The  father  rose.  His  color  was  high  and  so  was  his 
indignation.  He  pointed  to  the  chair  Abie  'had  vacated. 
"COME  HERE!"  he  shouted. 

Abie  remained  in  the  bedroom  doorway. 

"I  didn'  do  it  for  spite,"  he  said  in  tears,  "it  earned 
out  from  my  hand,  so  don'  che  hit  me." 

"I  WANT  THAT  THERE  SHOULD  BE  QUIET 
HERE!"  Mr.  Ratkin  thundered,  continuing  with  one 
long  finger  to  point  to  Abie's  vacant  chair.  Mrs.  Rat- 
kin,  fearful  of  violence,  begged  both  to  be  quiet.  When 


82  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

her  husband  grew  wild  Mrs.  Ratkin  invariably  became 
mild.  These  two  understood  the  psychology  of  family 
happiness. 

Abie  stood  dismally  devising  plans  for  the  termina- 
tion of  his  misery  and  wishing  he  had  not  waited  so  long 
to  take  matters  in  hand.  He  hoped  the  policeman  would 
"pull"  this  papa  of  his. 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  it  fell  down?"  asked  Mrs. 
Ratkin  gently,  as  she  rose  to  wash  the  pickle.  Abie 
made  no  reply.  Going  back  to  table  she  said:  "Come 
and  sit  down  already."  Abie  glanced  at  his  father. 
His  lowered  eyes  looked  too  ominous,  and  Abie  did  not 
budge.  "Nu,  come  Abie,  you  must  soon  go  and  light  the 
gas  in  the  halls."  Mrs.  Ratkin  gave  her  husband  a 
glance  that  was  meant  to  say :  "Here  is  reason  enough 
for  granting  him  immunity."  Mr.  Ratkin  looked  non- 
committal. Abie  moved  cautiously  back  to  his  chair. 
Scarcely  had  he  sat  down  when  Mr.  Ratkin  turned 
swiftly  and  punched  him  in  the  arm.  "There,  that's 
what  you  get  for  shouting  at  your  father!"  he  cried. 

Springing  from  his  seat  Abie  glared  at  his  father, 
his  heart  fairly  bursting  with  the  desire  for  vengeance. 

"For  God's  sake  let  him  alone — I  will  perish !"  cried 
Mrs.  Ratkin  with  so  much  fervor  that  Mr.  Ratkin  set- 
tled into  passivity.  All  was  quiet.  Abie  reseated  him- 
self and  swallowed  his  meal  in  silent  tears. 

When  Abie  was  out  of  the  room  lighting  the  gas  in 
the  halls,  Mr.  Ratkin  soliloquized: 

"All  the  neighbors  send  their  boys  to  peddle  papers; 
I  keep  my  son  like  the  apple  of  my  eye,  and  he  shouts 
at  me!"  Since  his  conscience  told  him  he  had  been  un- 
duly severe  with  the  child  he  spoke  in  a  genuinely  ag- 
grieved tone  to  forestall  his  wife's  nagging. 


ELIAS  83 

"Who — who  sends  their  boys  to  peddle  papers?"  de- 
manded Mrs.  Ratkin.  "Nu,  and  lighting  the  gas  is  no 
work?  When  you  get  it  into  your  head  to  pester  the 
boy,  you  do  it  without  measure."  She  rose  and  began 
to  clear  the  table. 

Mr.  Ratkin  faced  about  angrily. 

"Jakie  Mendel  does  not  peddle  papers  maybe,  no, 
what,  nu  ?  You  always  want  to  make  me  out  for  crazy." 

Mrs.  Ratkin  went  on  with  her  work  as  she  said: 

"Mrs.  Mendel  is  a  high-tone  lady,  a  Deitschke.  It 
would  not  suit  her  to  work  for  her  children.  Abie  has 
a  plain  woman  for  a  mother." 

How  could  Mrs.  Ratkin  know  of  the  chain  of  circum- 
stances which  had  linked  Sarah  to  the  world  of  Useful- 
Women-By-the-Day  ?  She  knew  of  Sarah's  work  at  the 
butcher's,  but  that,  she  and  the  neighbors  agreed,  would 
be  short-lived,  for  was  it  to  be  expected  that  a  Deitschke 
would  remain  at  mean  labor  indefinitely?  The  Russian  / 
Jew  of  this  class  nurtures  contempt  for  the  German 
Jew  because  of  his  assumption  of  superior  culture,  and 
the  German  Jew  looks  down  on  the  Russian  Jew  because 
of  his  alleged  crudeness.  A  state  of  internal  anti- 
Semitism  ! 

Mr.  Ratkin,  ignoring  this  point,  insisted  that  Jakie's 
father  was  as  rich  as  his  own  son's  father;  Mrs.  Ratkin 
remained  silent,  and  there  was  an  end  of  the  dispute. 

In  the  hall  of  the  front  tenement  Abie  met  Minnie 
going  on  an  errand  to  Mira.  Seeing  Abie's  eyes  were 
red-rimmed,  she  sang  teasingly :  "Cry  baby !"  and  so  say- 
ing dodged  him.  Abie,  however,  was  in  no  mood  for 
belligerency. 

"Uh,  my  papa  hollered  on  me  coun  a  the  pickle." 

Minnie  was  at  once  sympathetic. 


84  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"Yeh?"  she  asked,  drawing  closer  to  him. 

He  contemplated  his  shoe  tops  while  she  contemplated 
hers. 

"You  know  where,"  he  said.    "So  will  you  take  me?" 

The  two  looked  at  each  other.     Minnie  understood. 

"It's  by  the  corner — down  by  the  street."  She  pointed 
to  the  right,  "Where  we  turn  in  by  the  butcher,  and 
then  two  blocks  by  the  other  way." 

Abie  tried  to  grasp  her  directions  for  reaching  the 
Essex  Market  Court. 

"Kin  I  go  now?"  he  asked. 

"Uh,  no,  it's  only  open  in  the  morning.  The  judge 
am'  there  now."  She  was  astonished  at  his  ignorance 
on  the  subject. 

"So  I'll  go  in  the  morning,"  he  concluded,  resolving 
to  make  her  act  as  guide.  The  two  parted.  Abie  fin- 
ished lighting  the  gas  and  went  immediately  to  ask  his 
mother's  permission  to  go  out  on  the  street.  Permission 
granted,  he  proceeded  in  search  of  Essex  Market  Court 
and  met  Minnie  returning  from  Mira's.  She  pointed 
out  the  court  house  to  him. 

"Ugh,  is  that  it?  I  thought  it  was  annader  place. 
I  sawn  this  place  twenty  million  times." 

"You  go  in  there."    Minnie  pointed  to  the  front  door. 

Walking  home  they  covered  in  their  conversation  a 
range  of  philosophy  from  kites  to  cares. 

XV 

Abie  started  out  on  his  mission  of  vengeance  at  eight 
o'clock  the  next  morning;  rather  early  for  school,  his 
father  and  mother  thought,  though  making  no  comment. 
At  the  street  door  he  waited  in  vain  for  Minnie.  But 


ELIAS  85 

soon  he  left.  Since  he  knew  the  location  of  the  court 
house  she  was  not  indispensable. 

Shortly  afterwards  Mr.  Ratkin  sallied  forth  for  the 
day's  bread-winning. 

Abie  had  a  long  wait  at  the  court  house  before  it  gave 
signs  of  life.  About  ten  o'clock  a  giant  policeman  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway  and  ordered  the  urchin  to  move 
on. 

"Kin  I  go  in?"  he  asked. 

"What  do  you  want  to  go  in  for?" 

"There's  a  man,  he  always  licks  me.  I  wanna  tell  the 
judge  on  him  and  get  him  arrested." 

The  policeman  looked  down  on  the  complainant  half 
mockingly,  half  questioningly.  At  that  very  moment 
Abie's  father's  voice  sang:  "I  cash  clothes."  Abie's 
mouth  remained  open  in  the  act  of  a  word  unsaid.  Then 
he  cried  excitedly: 

"Come — come  on!"  and  made  several  hurried  steps, 
motioning  the  policeman  to  follow.  "That's  him! 
That's  the  man  who  licks  me.  He  murders  me." 

The  policeman  impelled  by  good-nature  and  curiosity 
followed  the  boy  around  the  corner.  There  stood  Mr. 
Ratkin,  his  head  raised  to  a  top-story  window,  from 
which  leaned  a  woman.  "I  cash  clothes."  He  might 
have  been .  serenading  the  lady  so  much  melody  did  he 
put  into  the  refrain. 

"There!  That's  him!"  cried  Abie  all  aquiver  with 
excitement. 

Mr.  Ratkin  beheld  his  son.  His  refrain  snapped  and 
broke.  Words  were  too  feeble  to  express  his  astonish- 
ment. He  merely  gaped. 

"Move  on!"  the  policeman  growled,  swinging  his 
club. 


86  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"But  he  licks  me,"  Abie  protested,  with  an  appealing 
look  up  at  his  possible  Redeemer. 

"What  did  he  say?  What  does  he  want?"  Mr. 
Ratkin  asked  Abie. 

"He  says  if  you  lick  me  he'll  get  you  arrested." 

In  a  flash  Mr.  Ratkin  discarded  his  old  clothes-and- 
rags  bag,  drew  in  a  deep  breath  and  pounced  upon 
His  Own.  The  policeman  saw  fit  to  exercise  his  prov- 
ince. He  collared  Mr.  Ratkin  and  forced  him  along. 
Abie  made  off. 

Mr.  Ratkin  was  sentenced  to  one  night  in  the  Essex 
Court  lockup,  regardless  of  his  gesticulations  and  en- 
treaties. He  had  struck  a  child,  it  was  his  turn  now 
to  be  struck  by  the  hand  of  the  Law. 

In  gloomy  speculation  as  to  the  outcome  of  his  ven- 
geance now  that  it  was  accomplished,  and  sorely  beset 
by  misgivings,  Abie  wandered  aimlessly  through  the 
streets  until  driven  home  by  hunger. 

Little  by  little  Mrs.  Ratkin  learned  what  had  taken 
place.  She  gasped.  She  choked.  She  turned  blue  in 
the  face.  And,  what  was  more,  she  was  speechless! 
Her  unprecedented  speechlessness  was  most  ominous  to 
the  petrified  Abie. 

"I  didn'  done  it  myself.  The  policeman  made — Min- 
nie— ,"  he  whimpered,  shuffling  to  the  bedroom  door  and 
succumbing  to  tears. 

Mrs.  Ratkin's  eyes  showed  that  her  soul  was  rolling 
up  its  sleeves  for  the  ultimate,  the  beating  that  Abie 
deserved.  She  sprang  upon  him  fiendishly. 

"Mama — ma!  I  didn'  do  it,"  Abie  wedged  in  when 
she  had  to  stop  for  breath.  "Minnie  Mendel  told  me. 
She  took  me.  Uh,  mama,  don'  hit  me,  don'  hit  me!" 

Minnie  Mendel !    Aha !    Then  that  black-yeared  Sarah 


ELIAS  87 

had  delegated  her  corrupt  daughter  to  besmirch  the  Rat- 
kin  family  name  as  she  had  besmirched  her  own!  A 
mitigation  of  Abie's  crime,  yet  the  blows  continued  to 
descend  until  Mrs.  Ratkin's  wind  and  muscle  gave  out. 
She  tottered  to  the  lounge  and  sank  down  wailing.  How 
could  she  look  that  Mendel  woman  in  the  face?  What 
demon  had  possessed  that  loafer  of  hers  to  commit  such 
a  foul  deed,  to  bring  such  a  curse  upon  his  innocent 
father's  head,  a  father  who  disciplined  him  only  that 
he  might  sow  the  seed  of  a  golden  manhood,  the  father 
who  picked  rags  for  him,  who  did  not  send  him  to 
peddle  papers  like  other  fathers,  like  the  Mendel  father, 
for  example? 

Abie  lay  on  the  bed  sobbing.    The  twins  howled. 

But  sobs  and  sighs,  Mrs.  Ratkin  bethought  herself, 
were  no  solution  of  her  grave  problem.  She  ought  to 
go  to  court  at  once. 

Abie  came  forward  with  expert  information: 

"The  station-house  is  closed  already,"  he  said. 

His  mother  glared  at  him. 

"You  loafer  you — you  nothing  you — you  piece  of 
manure,  if  you  say  another  word,  I  will  give  you  a  blow 
that  you  will  have  to  gather  your  teeth  from  the  floor." 

Brooding  silently  Abie  accompanied  his  mother  and 
twins  on  the  errand  of  reclamation. 

The  court  house  was  closed. 

"See  I  told  you  so,"  quoth  Abie.    A  blow  silenced  him. 

The  Ratkins  returning  from  the  court  house  met  Sarah 
Mendel  in  the  hall  returning  from  her  work  at  Mrs. 
Finkelstein's.  On  the  spur  of  the  moment  Mrs.  Rat- 
kin  resolved  to  have  it  out  with  "that  woman,"  to  fling 
in  her  face  her  pernicious  influence  on  the  neighbor- 
hood, the  pernicious  influence  of  her  ugly  Minnie,  and 


88  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

incidentally  to  forestall  a  social  comeback  from  Sarah. 

Mrs.  Ratkin's  bill  of  complaints  ended  with  Minnie's 
latest  misdeed.  Abie,  she  said,  would  never  of  his  own 
accord  have  thought  out  such  a  thing  as  to  send  his 
father  to  Sing-Sing.  Sing-Sing!  Never  had  the  neigh- 
borhood heard  of  the  place  until  Sarah  brought  it  to  their 
innocent  notice. 

Abie  slunk  into  a  corner.  The  twins  clung  frantically 
to  their  mother's  skirt.  A  butcher's  boy  passing,  at- 
tracted by  the  loud  voice,  was  the  first  to  stop  and  listen ; 
others  followed  his  example.  Tenants  opened  doors, 
stuck  out  heads,  and  were  drawn  to  the  scene.  A  yel- 
low, shrivelled  old  woman  with  a  dark  gray  shawl  over 
her  head,  made  her  way  falteringly  through  the  hall  to 
the  stairs. 

"Fui !  Fui !"  she  mumbled.  "Jewish  women  should 
quarrel  so!  It  does  not  suit  Jewish  women  to  quarrel 
so."  The  butcher's  boy  laughed  and  scampered  off. 
Some  of  the  audience  smiled. 

The  old  woman  spat  out  once,  twice,  thrice  as  she 
tottered  up  the  stairs.  Sarah  looking  after  her  was  re- 
minded of  her  mother;  a  peaceful  old-country  family 
scene  flitted  across  her  consciousness.  She  turned  and 
mounted  the  steps  as  quickly  as  her  tired  feet  would 
carry  her. 

"You  think,"  Mrs.  Ratkin  hurled  after  her,  "you  can 
hide  your  own  shame  by  bringing  the  same  shame  upon 
other  people's  heads.  You  think  maybe  I  don't  under- 
stand. But  everybody  in  the  whole  neighborhood  knows 
I  am  an  honest,  respectable  woman  who  works  along 
with  her  husband.  But  you,  what  do  you  do  ?  You  send 
your  good,  pious  husband  to  Sing-Sing.  Fui!  Shame 
on  you!" 


ELIAS  89 

Sarah  shrinking  within  herself  disappeared  in  a  bend 
of  the  stairs. 

Mrs.  Ratkin  turning  to  the  remaining  auditors  began 
to  tell  of  the  awful  character  of  the  Sarah  Mendel 
woman.  One  by  one  they  dropped  away. 

When  Sarah  did  day's  work,  Minnie  served  as  the 
charwoman.  Thursdays  she  scrubbed  for  the  Sabbath. 
Little  East  Side  children  talk  of  having  to  do  "my 
scrubbing,"  "my  washing."  Minnie  had  no  knack  for 
scrubbing.  Scold  her  as  one  would,  she  invariably  got 
herself  wet,  even  to  her  shoes  and  stockings.  The  first 
sight  to  greet  Sarah  was  a  sopping  Minnie,  and  it  re- 
quired less  than  this  to  kindle  her  anger  to  white  heat. 
She  could  scarcely  contain  herself.  She  wanted  to  strike 
the  child.  The  temptation  was  so  great  that  she  had 
to  look  away. 

Ida  and  Bubbele  playing  near  the  window  where  the 
floor  was  scrubbed  but  not  dry  tried  to  rise  but  slipped 
and  fell.  Bubbele  screamed.  Her  mother  hushed  her 
up.  The  child  again  tried  unsuccessfully  to  get  to  her 
feet;  she  burst  into  a  howl.  Sarah  was  beside  her- 
self. 

Minnie  knelt  in  a  puddle  of  water,  scrubbing-brush  in 
hand. 

"Look  at  the  water  in  the  pail.  It  is  filthy!"  Sarah' 
glared  at  her  daughter,  who  wondered  what  had  brought 
her  mother  home  so  cross. 

"It's  the  last  piece,  I  don'  need  no  clean  water." 

Sarah  swooped  down  upon  the  pail,  carried  it  to  the 
sink  with  a  furious  gesture,  poured  out  the  water  and 
refilled  the  pail.  Minnie  frightened,  began  to  cry. 

"Look,"  Sarah  shouted,  "look  how  wet  you  are!"  and 
she  pulled  roughly  at  Minnie's  dress. 


90  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"Oh,  mama!" 

"Cry  a  little!  Cry!  You——"  Sarah  broke  off  in 
an  honest  effort  to  control  herself. 

A  sobbing  Minnie  rose  from  the  floor  and  walked 
into  the  bedroom.  When  a  child  of  eight  has  scrubbed 
two  floors,  has  laid  clean  newspaper  over  a  table  she 
has  scoured,  and  over  a  stove  she  has  polished ;  and  has 
prepared  supper  for  six — well,  it  is  rather  hard  to  be 
scolded  instead  of  praised.  Minnie  sobbed  harder  and 
harder. 

Sarah  opened  the  floodgates  of  her  heart. 

"A  thousand  times  I  told  you  not  to  tell  Abie  about 
the  court — a  thousand  times.  And  you  told  him.  You 
must  have  told  his  mother,  too,  because  she  knows.  Or 
maybe  Abie  told  her.  You  took  Abie  to  the  court  to 
arrest  his  father.  What  devil  of  a  child  are  you?" 

Minnie  gazed  wide-eyed  and  started  to  make  denial. 
Her  mother  shrieked  at  her  to  be  still.  Minnie  turned 
ashen  white  and  sobbed  so  hard  that  her  small  frame 
shook.  She  fell  silent  from  exhaustion. 

The  two  younger  children  played  quietly  to  ward  off 
their  mother's  wrath  from  themselves. 

Sarah  finished  scrubbing  the  floor,  then  utterly  worn 
out  seated  herself  at  the  window. 

"God,  my  God !"  she  thought  as  she  gazed  out  upon 
the  dingy  red  of  the  rear  tenement.  "Will  it  be  like 
this  forever?  Work — slave — for  what?  What  have 
we?  A  child  like  Minnie  must  scrub  and  clean,  and  I 
must  go  out  to  work  for  strangers.  Elias  is  not  well, 
Jacob  must  peddle  papers,  and  yet  we  have  not  enough 
for  shoes.  And  a  foul  tongue  like  the  Ratkin  woman's 
dares  yet  to  besmirch  me !"  She  was  racked  to  the  very 
depths  of  her  being. 


ELIAS  91 

When  Elias  came  home  he  found  Minnie  red-eyed, 
hunched  up  on  the  bed. 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

Minnie  burst  into  sobs  again. 

"Mama — mama,  she  blames  me.  She  says  I  told  out  to 
Abie.  I  didn'  do  it  at  all.  I  didn'  take  him  by  the  court. 
He  was  hisself ."  She  could  say  no  more.  Elias  was  dis- 
turbed and  puzzled.  Sarah,  conscience-smitten  for  her 
onslaught  upon  the  child,  read  reproof  in  Elias's  glance. 

"You  have  something  to  say,  too!"  She  rose  from  her 
seat  with  an  infuriated  look,  and  grabbing  her  shawl 
rushed  out,  slamming  the  door  behind  her.  Crying  all 
the  way,  she  walked  to  Mira's. 

Elias  was  bewildered.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
sighed.  After  waiting  nearly  an  hour  for  Sarah  to 
return,  he  and  Minnie,  whom  he  gently  asked  to  help 
him,  set  the  table  and  after  supper  cleared  and  washed 
the  dishes. 

When  the  children  were  asleep  and  all  was  quiet  in 
the  home,  except  for  the  ticking  of  the  clock,  Elias 
seated  himself  at  the  window.  He  gazed  out  on  the 
rear  tenement  now  black  in  the  darkness. 

"It  is  hard  on  her,"  he  reflected.  "To-day  she  was 
by  the  woman  to  work.  She  is  not  used  to  such  a  life 
from  home.  She  is  a  refined  woman,  of  a  good  family. 
It  is  terrible.  What  shall  I  do?  Will  it  always  be  like 
this?  How  hard!  What  a  hard  life!"  He  recalled 
the  notion  prevailing  "at  home"  that  the  streets  of 
America  were  paved  with  gold  which,  to  own,  one  had 
only  to  pick  up. 

Across  Eiias's  thoughts  there  swept  a  plaintive  croon- 
ing from  a  home  in  the  rear  tenement.  A  woman  was 
singing  her  baby  to  sleep. 


92  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"America  is  dock  a  goldena  Land; 
Men  darf  nur  zein  sehr  reich."* 

He  wiped  the  tears  from  his  eyes. 

Long  after  he  had  retired,  Sarah  returned  accom- 
panied by  Jacob  whom  she  had  met  on  the  street.  Elias 
called  to  her  saying  supper  had  been  left  for  both  of 
them  on  the  stove. 

"A  pretty  thank  you,"  was  Sarah's  sarcastic  reply. 

Nothing  more  was  said,  and  soon  the  lights  were 
turned  out  for  the  night. 

XVI 

To  Mrs.  Ratkin,  whose  heart  bled  for  her  schlimasel- 
dicker  (unlucky)  husband,  an  eternity  seemed  to  elapse 
as  she  and  the  children  waited  for  the  doors  of  the 
court  house  to  open.  What,  she  wondered,  keeping  her 
eyes  fastened  on  Abie  as  if  to  probe  his  soul,  could  so 
suddenly  have  turned  him  vicious  enough  to  play  his 
own  father  so  foul  a  trick!  "A  healthy  boy — a  smart 
boy  in  school — what  devil  got  into  him!"  She  eased 
her  feelings  by  plaguing  him.  He  should  set  his  hat 
straight,  he  should  tie  his  shoe-lace,  ht  should  stand  on 
both  his  feet,  he  should  look  there  and  not  here. 

At  last,  trembling  with  fear  and  fury,  Mrs.  Ratkin 
was  facing  the  judge.  She  made  her  appeal  in  Yid- 
dish, plus  vehement  gesticulations.  Now  and  then  to 
intensify  her  meaning,  she  had  recourse  to  an  English 
word  or  broken  phrase — "boychick" — "fadder" — "lock- 

*  "America  is  a  golden  land ; 
One  needs  but  be  very  rich." 


ELIAS  93 

hop."  The  "boychick"  being  Abie,  son  of  the  man  ar- 
rested yesterday.  To  Mrs.  Ratkin  there  could  be  only 
one  man  that  had  been  arrested  yesterday.  The  inter- 
preter unravelled  the  complications  and  told  her  to  go 
to  the  street,  where  her  husband  would  join  her. 

A  legal  trick  to  get  rid  of  her !  She  expostulated.  A 
policeman  dumped  her  out.  Hard  were  Mrs.  Ratkin's 
feelings  against  Columbus  and  his  Medena  (land)  ;  she 
was  ready  to  curse  and  swear  when,  to  her  amazement, 
her  spouse  emerged  from  the  court  house. 

He  blinked.  The  street  seemed  strange,  his  family 
strangers.  He  displayed  no  sign  of  recognition.  His 
odd  behavior  silenced  even  the  twins,  who  held  back 
from  greeting  him.  Mrs.  Ratkin  looked  shrivelled  and 
aged.  Her  troubled  eyes  could  make  neither  head  nor 
tail  of  her  husband.  She  was  wretched.  Abie  slunk  be- 
hind the  group,  to  the  side  of  it,  wherever  he  could 
dodge  observation. 

They  walked  homeward  automatically.  By  degrees 
the  sense  of  strangeness  wore  off.  Mr.  Ratkin  spoke 
to  the  twins,  Mrs.  Ratkin  stopped  to  brush  her  hus- 
band's coat.  Finally  the  wedded  two  launched  upon  the 
utmost — the  culprit  Abie,  of  whose  presence  the  father 
was  not  yet  aware. 

Mrs.  Ratkin  asserted  Abie's  innocence.  It  was  all 
"that  Minnie,  that  Mendel  woman's  Minnie's  fault." 
The  boy  could  never  have  thought  of  such  a  thing  as 
going  to  court;  the  girl  had  talked  him  into  it,  in  fact, 
she  had  compelled  him  to  go  there.  "Nu,  how  do  you 
like  such  chutzpeh  (cheek)  for  a  mother  to  influence 
a  child  to  do  such  a  thing!"  Mr.  Ratkin  was  not  to 
be  easily  convinced. 

"I  was  a  boy,  too,  nu,  why  did  no  mother's  girl  in- 


94  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

fluence  me  to  arrest  my  father?  I  tell  you,  that  boy 
is  a  loafer  through  and  through."  He  smacked  his  lips 
witTi  appetite  for  the  beating  in  store  for  the  culprit. 

"Itzick,"  Mrs.  Ratkin  begged,  divining  her  husband's 
intentions,  "I  beseech  you,  let  there  be  peace  in  the  house 
over  the  Sabbath."  She  affected  extreme  weakness. 
"Upon  my  word,  I  have  no  strength  to  stand  on  my 
feet.  Yesterday  I  told  that  Mendel  woman  just  what 
I  think  of  her  and  her  Germankeit,  and  her  ugly  Min- 
nie, and  I  aggravated  myself  so,  I  did  not  sleep  all  night. 
I  have  no  strength  to  stand  more." 

The  twins  listening  earnestly  wished  matters  would 
adjust  themselves,  so  that  their  parents  would  take  heed 
of  their  august  presence.  The  apples  of  their  parents' 
eyes,  they  were  hardly  accustomed  to  being  slighted. 

There  was  silence.  Abie  thought  he  was  missing  con- 
versation and  stealing  closer  was  spied  by  Itzick  Ratkin, 
whose  angry  flush  did  not  escape  Mrs.  Ratkin.  "Hold 
yourself  back,"  she  shouted  to  her  husband  and  in  the 
same  breath  to  Abie:  "Run."  Abie  ran,  and  Mr.  Rat- 
kin,  of  necessity,  "held  himself  back." 

Abie  sauntered  along  a  few  yards  behind  the  others, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  head  sunk  low,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  pavement.  He  was  thinking  hard.  A 
wretched  life,  lickings,  lickings,  all  the  time  lickings.  He 
hated  his  father.  Life  on  earth  was  hell.  He  would 
seek  heavenly  refuge  under  the  wheels  of  the  Madi- 
son Street  cars.  In  the  clutch  of  this  strengthening  re- 
solve, he  lost  sense  of  his  whereabouts  and  failed  to  ob- 
serve that  his  father,  as  they  drew  nearer  their  home, 
was  seeking  a  second  opportunity.  Several  feet  from 
their  door  he  made  a  dash  for  the  boy,  but  the  mother's 
shriek,  "Itzick!"  was  a  timely  warning  to  Abie,  who 


ELIAS  95 

dodged  his  father's  fist  by  the  merest  slice  of  good  luck. 

"God!"  cried  Mrs.  Ratkin. 

Abie  ran  until  he  was  certain  he  was  out  of  the  dan- 
ger zone,  then  stopping  to  get  his  bearings,  he  turned 
towards  Madison  Street.  It  was  the  lunch  hour.  He 
met  Minnie  coming  from  school. 

Her  heart  pounded  angrily  at  sight  of  him.  Never 
would  she  speak  to  that  liar  again.  Abie  instantly  sensed 
her  mood.  However,  he  did  not  intend  to  make  his 
exodus  from  this  world  without  explanation.  He  barred 
her  passage. 

"Get  out  of  my  way !  You're  a  liar !  You  told  your 
mama  I  telled  you  about  us,  and  I  showed  you  where. 
You're  a  liar!"  She  spoke  unrestrainedly,  her  feminine 
intuition  telling  her  she  was  safe  from  rebuff. 

"I  didn'  said  nothin',"  Abie  wailed  in  denial.  "My 
mama,  she  sawn  yous  all  gone  in  the  Essick  Market 
Court  that  day,  she  told  my  papa,  I  heard  it  wid  my 
own  ears,  and  my  mama  she  said  I  shouldn'  said  noth- 
ing to  you,  that  she  sawn  yous,  but  she  did.  I  did  not 
said  you  took  me.  All  the  time  she  blames  it  on  me." 
Tears  of  injury  gathered  in  the  boy's  eyes.  Abie  was 
weary,  world  weary;  East  Side  children  do  get  world 
weary. 

The  boy's  tears  melted  Minnie's  little  heart.  She 
made  no  reply.  Automatically  they  walked  on  together. 

"I'm  gonna  get  runned  over;  sick  of  it;  hope  I  die," 
Abie  said  as  if  to  himself,  then  reasserted  for  Minnie's 
ears :  "I'm  gonna  go  and  get  runned  over  by  the  Madi- 
son Street  car." 

Minnie  became  alert. 

"So  you'll  get  dead." 

"I  don*  care.    I  wanna." 


96  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Minnie  grew  penitent. 

"Ill  be  sorry,"  she  confessed  in  a  low  voice. 

Silence. 

Instead  of  turning  the  usual  corner,  they  walked 
straight  ahead.  Abie  was  tired,  his  feet  ached. 

"Let's  go  in  and  sit  down  on  the  rock,"  he  suggested. 
The  rock  was  a  large  stone  in  an  air-shaft,  so  named 
by  the  children  of  the  neighborhood.  It  was  big  enough 
to  hold  them  both.  For  a  few  minutes  they  sat  in 
silence.  Abie  toyed  with  a  button  on  his  jumper ;  Min- 
nie outlined  the  pattern  of  her  checked  dress  with  her 
forefinger. 

"I  wisht  my  papa  dies,  I  hate  him,"  said  Abie. 

A  brief  pause. 

"You  ain'  gonna  go  by  the  car?"  urged  Minnie. 
Abie's  suicidal  intent  worried  her  tremendously. 

"So  when  I  die,  you'll  be  sorry?" 

The  tears  started  to  Minnie's  eyes.  She  pleaded  earn- 
estly :  "Don'  go  by  the  car,  Abie,  then  I'll  speak  to  you 
my  whole  life." 

Abie  sat  hunched  up,  his  hands  squeezed  tight  in  his 
lap,  his  shoulders  curved.  His  lips  were  parched,  his 
eyes  red-rimmed,  his  face  worn  and  pale.  He  gazed 
into  space. 

"So,  when  I  get  a  man,"  he  asked  after  a  silence, 
"will  you  marry  me,  Minnie?"  Minnie,  whose  little 
heart  went  out  to  him  in  an  abundance  of  pity,  said 
softly  and  a  little  diffidently:  "Yeh,  Abie,"  this  time 
without  the  usual  proviso,  "if  you  be  a  teacher." 

From  a  window  of  the  tenement  heights  a  newspaper 
bundle  came  flying  through  the  air,  opening  and  scat- 
tering in  all  directions  diversified  rubbish,  chicken  guts, 
fish  guts,  plain  garbage  embellished  with  dust. 


ELIAS  97 

A  goodly  portion  landed  on  the  children's  heads  and 
in  their  laps.  Horrified  they  jumped  up  and  shook  off 
the  filth,  and  simultaneously  turned  their  gaze  upward. 

"You  dirty  rotten  pigs,"  they  cried,  addressing  the 
windows,  "you  should  go  to  hell  and  die!"  Thus  re- 
lieved they  abandoned  the  air-shaft. 

The  factory  whistles  blowing  one  o'clock  gave  Min- 
nie an  awful  shock.  Too  late  for  home,  too  late  for 
afternoon  session!  Abie  proposed  they  go  to  Rutgers 
Street  Park  "to  sit,"  and  Minnie  consented  after  some 
persuasion.  By  three  o'clock,  when  they  left  the  Park 
together,  Minnie's  counsel  had  prevailed  and  the  would- 
be  suicide  was  decided  to  endure  his  domestic  sufferings 
until  he  "got  a  man."  In  the  hall  of  the  front  tenement 

they  parted,  promising  to  meet  again  in  the  evening. 
******* 

When  by  twenty  minutes  past  twelve  Minnie  was  not 
yet  home  from  school  Sarah,  much  concerned,  opened 
the  door  to  listen  for  her  footsteps.  By  half-past  twelve 
she  was  all  unstrung,  and  sat  wringing  her  hands  in 
despair.  From  Jacob,  his  mouth  filled  with  bread  and 
cheese,  came  the  consoling  statement  that  Minnie  had 
probably  been  detained  by  the  teacher  to  clean  the  black- 
boards, the  "best  girl,"  he  explained  being  assigned  that 
honor  now  and  then. 

"Would  it  be  just  at  noontime?" 

"Only  at  noontime,"  prevaricated  Jacob. 

Since  it  seemed  quite  plausible  that  the  teacher  had 
at  last  discovered  the  "best  girl"  in  Minnie,  the  mother 
felt  somewhat  relieved. 

Sarah  was  just  deciding  to  leave  her  seat  at  the  win- 
dow and  go  watch  for  the  child  on  the  street  when 
Minnie  bounded  in  breathless  and  excited.  Minnie  im- 


98  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

mediately  poured  out  the  tale  of  Abie's  suicidal  intent 
and  her  truancy.  Sarah  listened,  with  odd  feelings  stir- 
ring in  her  breast.  This  child  of  hers  was  queerly  com- 
plex: more  than  a  baby  and  more  than  a  grandmother. 
Sarah  sighed.  Her  mother's  silence  encouraged  Min- 
nie to  lean  lovingly  against  her. 

"Ma,"  she  said  toying  with  Sarah's  hair,  "Abie  and 
I  am  gonna  get  married  when  he  gets  a  man  and  I  am 
big  like  you." 

"Go  get  something  to  eat."  Sarah  dropped  her  eyes. 
She  was  annoyed. 

Minnie,  though  she  could  not  understand  why,  sensed 
her  mother's  displeasure.  In  silence  she  cut  herself  a 
piece  of  bread  and  took  a  brown  senile-looking  banana, 
one  of  a  penny  "job-lot"  of  eleven,  and  began  to  munch  it. 

As  for  Abie,  he  brought  tears  of  gratitude  to  his 
mother's  eyes  when  he  put  in  his  appearance.  There  was 
no  telling,  was  Mrs.  Ratkin's  opinion,  what  next  such 
a  loafer  as  her  Abie  could  do,  even  to  himself.  She 
sent  her  husband  a  mute  appeal  for  peace,  which  he 
respected. 

So  there  was  harmony  in  the  Ratkin  home  for  the 
Sabbath. 

As  a  new  form  of  punishment  Mr.  Ratkin  refrained 

from  talking  to  his  son  for  several  days.  "Tell  papa " 

Abie  would  say  to  his  mother ;  "Tell  your  son "  Mr. 

Ratkin  would  say  to  his  wife. 

XVII 

The  combined  income  of  the  Mendel  family  was  not 
destined  to  bring  an  abatement  of  Sarah's  worries.  So 
many  different  needs  had  accumulated  that  the  money 


ELIAS  99 

seemed  to  fly  immediately  that  it  came  to  nest.  In  ad- 
dition Elias  ailed  and  she  herself  had  a  constant  pain 
in  her  side. 

But  a  gentler  spirit  was  born  in  the  weary  Sarah.  In- 
stead of  her  ire,  Elias  now  roused  her  compassion;  he 
seemed  so  dispirited  and  unwell.  She  would  sit  for 
hours  at  a  time  staring  into  vacancy  as  if  to  discover 
ways  out  of  their  distress.  She  never  took  Elias  to 
task  any  more,  or  even  rebuked  the  children. 

One  day  Minnie  bouncing  in  from  the  afternoon  ses- 
sion knocked  over  Ida  who  was  standing  at  the  door 
shaping  a  sheet  of  newspaper  into  a  fireman's  cap.  Ida, 
as  she  scrambled  to  her  feet,  besought  Foxy  to  take 
vengeance  for  her.  "Sig  em!"  she  cried.  Foxy  forth- 
with drew  himself  up  at  attention,  barked  and  seemed 
ready  to  carry  out  his  Young  Royalty's  command.  Bub- 
bele  stirred  in  her  sleep. 

"Ssh !"  Sarah  called  to  the  belligerent  trio  as  she  tip- 
toed to  the  bedroom  to  peep  at  the  baby.  All  was  quiet. 
Sarah  tiptoed  back  to  her  seat  at  the  window.  Foxy 
relaxed.  Minnie  went  to  wash  her  hands  and  Ida  in 
need  of  consolation,  cried  sulkily,  dropping  the  news- 
paper: "Ma — ma,  I'm  tired."  She  fetched  a  long  sigh 
and  Sarah,  who  saw  she  really  looked  tired,  did  not 
repel  her  when  she  climbed  into  her  lap.  Mothers  of 
Sarah's  generation  have  their  demonstrativeness  re- 
served for  the  very  special  occasions. 

Minnie,  attracted  by  the  cosy  picture  Ida  and  her 
mother  made,  squatted  on  the  floor  beside  them.  Along 
came  Foxy  and  sprawled  himself  luxuriously  next  to 
her. 

"Mama,  tell  her  to  go  away!"  sulked  Ida.  Ida  was 
not  one  to  dismiss  a  grudge  readily. 


ioo  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"Be  still  children!"  Sarah  pleaded  gently. 

They  lapsed  into  silence. 

Mechanically  Sarah  began  to  hum  a  Yiddish  lullaby, 
rocking  Ida  in  her  arms.  The  children,  affected  by  the 
mournful  tune  and  their  mother's  unwonted  serenity, 
listened  spellbound.  But  soon  Sarah  broke  off  to  wipe 
her  tearful  eyes. 

"Ah,  ma,  sing  some  more!"  coaxed  Ida  sleepily. 

But  Minnie,  who  had  been  scrutinizing  her  mother, 
interrupted  with  an  observation: 

"Uh,  ma,  you  got  gray  eyes."  Sarah's  eyes  had  been 
her  pride.  She  felt  somewhat  embarrassed.  "Ain'  it 
mama?"  urged  Minnie. 

"No,"  Sarah  exclaimed  with  exaggerated  indigna- 
tion engendered  by  self-consciousness,  "but  my  hair  is 
gray."  It  seemed  to  Minnie  that  her  mother  held  her 
to  blame. 

"Mama,  your  hair  ain'  gray.  It's  brown.  Gray  is 
white-like,  ain'  it?"  Her  mother's  affirmation  did  not 
come.  "Your  hair  is  all  dark  like  mine,"  continued  Min- 
nie indignantly,  as  she  held  a  strand  of  her  own  hair 
against  her  mother's.  Sarah  seemed  still  unconvinced. 
Minnie  fetched  the  small  mirror  from  the  wall  between 
the  windows  and  held  it  so  that  the  faces  and  heads  of 
both  were  reflected.  "See  now,  ma,  your  hair  ain'  gray," 
she  reiterated,  feeling  she  had  refuted  the  charge. 

Sarah,  glimpsing  her  sallow,  haggard  face  in  the  mir- 
ror, felt  her  heart  caught  on  the  point  of  a  stiletto.  "At 
home  they  used  to  call  me  pretty  Sarah!"  she  wailed 
inwardly. 

"Put  the  mirror  back !"  she  cried  passionately.  Min- 
nie was  startled.  To  her  amazement  her  mother  was 
crying. 


ELIAS  101 

"What's  a  madder,  mama?"  cooed  Minnie,  grieved, 
pimled  and  penitent.  She  held  her  hands  out  to  take 
Sarah's  face  between  them.  Sarah  evaded  the  caress. 

"Put  it  back,  I  tell  you,"  she  repeated. 

Sarah  was  crying  harder  when  Minnie  came  back 
to  her  side.  The  child  was  miserable. 

"Mama,  uh  mama!"  she  cried  impotently. 

Sarah  stroked  her  head.  "Oh,  my  girlie,  may  God 
grant  you  better  fortune!"  she  moaned,  rocking  the 
sleeping  Ida  to  and  fro. 

Somewhere  deep  down  in  the  mother's  heart  lived  a 
dread  that  her  daughter's  lot  would  be  like  her  own. 
"But,"  she  would  reassure  herself,  "she  is  an  American, 
she  will  go  to  high  school — to  college — if  I  live  to  send 
her.  Her  life  will  necessarily  be  different  from  mine." 
But  deep  within  her  Sarah's  soul  sighed. 

XVIII 

At  dawn  next  day  Sarah,  careful  not  to  disturb  the 
others,  dressed  and  hurried  to  the  butcher's  for  the  Fri- 
day chicken-plucking.  Elias,  who  rose  an  hour  later, 
prepared  his  own  coffee,  and  then  called  to  Minnie  and 
Jacob.  Minnie,  as  she  lay  asleep,  looked  pale  and 
pinched.  Elias  was  glad  that  Sarah  had  dispensed  with 
the  child's  assistance  at  the  butcher's  this  time.  It  took 
a  while  before  the  two  children  began  to  stir  in  their 
beds.  Finally  Elias  had  to  urge  Minnie  to  hurry ;  there 
were  the  rolls  to  purchase.  She  stirred  and  complained 
of  a  headache.  Five  minutes  later  she  crawled  out  of 
the  cot,  looking  even  sallower  than  in  sleep.  Elias  was 
worried.  He  called  Jacob  and  told  him  to  go  on  the 
errand. 


102  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"Where's  Minnie ?"  growled  the  boy,  who  could  not 
allow  for  this  deviation  from  the  family  custom. 

"Minnie  has  a  headache." 

"I  got  a  headache,  too."  He  closed  his  eyes.  It  was 
characteristic  of  him  to  resort  to  subterfuge  to  gain  ex- 
emption from  a  household  task.  Minnie  threw  an  ex- 
asperated glance  at  his  head  snuggling  in  the  pillow. 
She  ran  over,  tore  the  pillow  from  under  him  and  dashed 
away.  Jacob  was  out  of  the  bed  in  one  bound  and  in 
pursuit.  Elias  intervened  smiling  upon  both  children. 
To  restore  peace  he  said : 

"Go,  Minnele,  run  down  to  the  grocery.  I  cannot 
wait  for  Jacob  to  dress.  I  will  be  late." 

Minnie  relinquished  the  pillow.  She  finished  dress- 
ing and  taking  five  cents  from  her  father  left.  When 
she  returned,  breathless  as  always,  she  was  pleased  to 
find  the  cots  and  bedding  removed  from  the  room-of- 
all-affairs.  Assuming  that  her  father  had  been  the  good 
angel,  she  thanked  him.  Truth  to  tell,  Jacob  had  con- 
tributed his  aid. 

Elias,  to  Minnie's  surprise,  got  ready  to  leave  before 
eating  his  rolls. 

"Papa,"  she  called,  "you  didn'  ate  nothin' !" 

"I  did." 

"But  not  no  rolls,  and  you  didn'  ate  no  supper  last 
night  neither." 

Jacob,  who  was  combing  his  hair  with  the  fraction  of 
the  family  comb,  looked  from  under  a  long  wet  fore- 
lock and  growled  disgustedly : 

"Chatterbox!     All  the  time  she  asks  questions." 

Minnie,  except  for  a  bitter  look,  ignored  him. 

"Ssh,"  said  Elias,  to  forestall  a  quarrel,  and  made  for 
the  door  without  confessing  that  while  Minnie  was  gone 


ELIAS  103 

he  had  had  a  spell  of  nausea.  Minnie,  too  self-con- 
scious now  to  insist  on  his  eating,  joined  Jacob  in 
calling  out:  "Good-by,  pop." 

The  second  number  on  the  program  of  Minnie's  daily 
activities  took  her  into  the  bedchamber.  "Get  up,  Ida! 
Get  up  Bubbele!"  After  a  series  of  sleepy  protesta- 
tions the  children  scrambled  out  of  bed  into  the  room- 
of -all-affairs,  where  Minnie  attended  to  the  entire  cere- 
mony of  Bubbele's  dressing  and  to  the  lacing  of  Ida's 
shoes,  a  detail  which,  when  it  fell  to  Ida  for  execution, 
invariably  introduced  complications  in  the  household ; 
the  laces  would  get  irretrievably  twisted,  and  a  howl 
would  ensue  that  would  bring  the  family  in  a  flurry  to 
extricate  her  from  her  miseries. 

Next  in  order  was  breakfast.  At  table  Minnie  appor- 
tioned the  largest  cruller  to  Jacob — a  standing  discrim- 
ination in  his  favor.  When  the  repast  was  over  she 
cleared  the  table,  washed  the  dishes,  instructed  Ida  and 
Bubbele  how  to  behave  until  "Mama  would  come  home 
from  the  butcher's,"  and  finally  left  for  school. 

She  made  a  detour  to  the  butcher's,  where  she  found 
Sarah  imbedded  in  a  mountain  of  feathers.  Disregard- 
ing the  presence  of  the  butcher  and  his  customers,  she 
jumped  over  the  sorry  heap  of  plumage. 

"Mama,"  she  said,  "papa  didn'  waked  me  till  late " 

Sarah  looked  up  in  surprise  from  the  speckled  gray 
chicken  in  her  lap. 

"A  golden  child  she  is!"  passed  through  her  mind. 
"I  scold  her  so!" — Minnie's  nose  still  showed  signs 
of  the  historic  push — "and  it  is  as  if  nothing  happens." 
A  tender  look  came  into  Sarah's  eyes  as  she  turned  them 
on  Minnie  and  said:  "I  do  not  need  you.  Just  go  to 
school." 


104  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Minnie  stole  a  hasty  kiss  and  jumped  back  over  the 
mountain  of  feathers,  which  rose  in  a  storm  of  pro- 
test. "Pooh,  pooh!"  the  butcher  and  his  customers 
cried,  turning  their  heads  away.  The  child  laughed  and 
skipped  out,  while  Sarah  looked  after  her  lovingly,  her 
eyes  moist.  The  butcher  gave  Sarah  a  knowing  wink. 

"Some  girl!" 

"Yes,  a  girl  and  a  half."  This  last  proceeding  from  a 
friend  of  Mrs.  Ratkin's,  Sarah  was  somewhat  dubious  of 
its  sincerity. 

XIX 

"Elias,"  said  Sarah,  one  hot  spring  evening  as  she 
finished  washing  the  supper  dishes,  "the  summer  is  nearly 
here  again.  I  cannot  stand  another  summer  of  bedbugs 
and  roaches  and  worms.  Maybe  we  can  take  other 
rooms." 

Elias  raised  his  eyes  from  the  newspaper  he  was  read- 
ing and  attempted  to  answer,  but  only  brought  out  thick, 
unintelligible  sounds  followed  by  a  fit  of  coughing. 
When  the  spell  subsided,  he  said : 

"When  I  cough,  I  get  the  taste  of  cigarettes,"  and 
added  gently:  "Do  you  think  it  will  be  better  some- 
where else?  We  cannot  afford  to  pay  much  more  than 
we  are  paying  here,  you  know." 

"Mira  told  me  of  two  rooms  on  Madison  Street  which 
do  not  cost  much  and  are  better." 

Elias  resumed  the  perusal  of  his  paper. 

"If  you  can  find  rooms  you  like  better,  take  them, 
my  wife,"  he  said  with  apparent  apathy. 

Sarah,  always  resentful  of  Elias's  calm,  which  she  at- 
tributed to  indifference,  flushed.  Since  the  crucial  ex- 


ELIAS  105 

perience  of  the  arrest,  however,  she  refrained  from  dis- 
plays of  irritation. 

"I  am  sick  of  this  place  without  the  vermin.  That 
housekeeper,  that  Mrs.  Ratkin,  looks  at  me  when  she 
sees  me  as  if  she  would  take  my  eyes  out.  I  never 
have  the  heart  to  bid  her  even  the  time  of  day  since 
then.  And  I  cannot  tell  you  how  it  annoys  me  to  see 
Minnie  run  around  so  much  with  that  loafer  Abie. 
Always  she  is  with  him — with  him — whenever  you 
see  her.  If  at  least  they  did  not  quarrel,  but  they 
do." 

Elias  raised  his  eyes  and  said : 

"Nu,  where  is  the  harm?  If  she  does  speak  to  him 
and  if  they  do  quarrel.  They  are  children." 

"Nu,  yes,  children.     She  neglects  her  school  lessons, 
she  is  never  in  the  house  to  play  with  her  younger  sis-* 
ters  and  nothing.    Anyway  I  do  not  like  it." 

Elias  smiled  at  what  was  in  the  back  of  Sarah's 
mind. 

"Do  not  be  a  foolish  woman." 

"If  I  am  foolish,  then  I  am  foolish,  that  is  all.  But 
Minnie  is  now  almost  nine  years  old.  The  years  fly. 
Soon  she  will  be  a  grown-up  girl.  How  long  does  it 
take  for  them  to  grow  up?" 

Sarah  grew  suddenly  melancholy.  A  mist  covered 
her  eyes.  Her  thoughts  travelled  across  the  Atlantic  to 
her  free-thinker  lover,  and  she  experienced  a  moment  of 
strangeness  to  her  surroundings — to  Elias — to  everything 
of  her  present  life.  With  a  deep  sigh  she  rose  and  auto- 
matically took  the  one-legged  clock  from  the  shelf  over 
the  sink  and  wound  it,  then  stood  for  a  while  medita- 
tively wiping  her  face  on  the  end  of  her  apron.  After  a 
time  she  said : 


106          SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"I  am  going  down  to  the  children  on  the  street.  Shall 
I  send  you  up  some  soda  water?" 

Elias  raising  his  brows  slightly  but  keeping  his  eyes 
lowered,  replied,  again  apathetically,  Sarah  thought,  and 
to  her  keen  annoyance: 

"If  you  want  to." 

Sarah  took  a  cracked  pitcher  under  her  apron  and  left. 

"I  will  look  for  other  rooms,"  she  said  to  herself.  "He 
would  be  satisfied  in  a  stable." 

As  Sarah  closed  the  door  Elias  examined  his  handker- 
chief. A  red  stain.  Blood!  It  had  happened  sev- 
eral times,  but  each  time  Elias  had  assured  himself  it 
was  nothing  and  probably  would  not  happen  again.  This 
time  a  tremor  of  fear  shot  through  him.  When  he  recov- 
ered he  was  glad  Sarah  had  not  seen  the  blood ;  it  would 
have  frightened  her.  He  sighed  heavily,  and  wearily 
picked  up  his  paper  again,  but  he  did  not  know  what  he 
was  reading. 

On  the  way  downstairs,  Sarah  met  with  a  slight  mis- 
hap; one  of  the  steps  gave  way  beneath  her  tread,  and 
she  fell  nearly  a  full  flight.  Mrs.  Ratkin,  who  happened 
to  be  on  the  floor  below,  spontaneously  expressed  con- 
cern. But  Sarah,  more  than  ever  filled  with  disgust  of 
the  tenement,  indulged  once  again  in  the  luxury  of  un- 
restrained temper. 

"God  mine,"  she  fairly  hissed  in  Mrs.  Ratkin's  face, 
as  if  the  janitress  were  to  blame  for  the  rottenness  of 
the  building,  "a  person  can  kill  himself  here.  How  does 
one  live  already  to  get  out  of  this  verminated  place!" 
She  lifted  her  eyes  to  heaven. 

Mrs.  Ratkin  drew  herself  up  to  the  dignified  height  of 
janitress. 

"Nu,  really,  if  it  does  not  suit  you,  why  do  you  not 


ELIAS  107 

move?  The  landlord  will  weep  out  of  existence  his 
third  eye!"  Going  her  way  Mrs.  Ratkin  thought:  "I 
hope  they  will  move.  I  will  tell  the  landlord  she  said 
they  will  move.  She  did  say  so — as  much  as  said  so." 

Sarah  realized  she  had  committed  an  indiscretion. 
After  all,  she  knew  nothing  definite  about  the  rooms  on 
Madison  Street.  Ignoring  Mrs.  Ratkin's  sarcasm,  she 
passed,  limping  slightly. 

A  group  of  children  were  circling  round  in  the  gutter 
to  the  rhythm  of  a  doleful  tune.  On  the  edge  of  the 
sidewalk  sat  a  group  of  women  on  wooden  egg  boxes, 
gossiping  and  watching  with  pride  their  progeny  in  the 
ring,  whose  voice  or  voices  they  thought  to  distinguish 
above  the  others.  In  momentary  forgetfulness  of  their 
cares,  they  beamed  with  the  love  and  pride  of  mothers 
the  world  over. 

Sarah  discerned  Ida  and  even — yes,  even — little  Bub- 
bele  holding  her  sister's  hand,  and  circling  gracefully 
round  and  round. 

"Go  in  and  out  the  window — Go  in  and  out  the  win- 
dow  "  the  children's  voices  rang  in  plaintive  discord. 

There  was  an  unoccupied  egg  box  near  the  curb; 
Sarah,  however,  seated  herself  on  the  doorstep,  thereby 
giving  cause  for  whispered  comment.  Aloofness  such  as 
this,  though  inspired  by  a  shy  reticence,  made  Sarah  out 
a  haughty  superior  to  Mrs.  Ratkin  and  her  followers. 
Woe  be  to  him  who  lacks  the  spirit  of  free-masonry 
which  must  animate  all  who  cling  to  the  same  plank  in 
life! 

"Blocking  the  way,"  grumbled  Mrs.  Ratkin,  emerging 
from  the  house. 

Sarah  rose  instantly,  brought  the  egg  box  from  the 
turb  to  the  doorstep,  and  placing  it  so  that  it  would 


io8  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

not  obstruct  the  passage,  seated  herself.    More  and  hotter 
comment  gathered. 

A  great  truck  lumbering  heavily,  but  at  some  speed, 
down  the  street  caused  diversion.  Mothers  shouted  to 
their  young  to  come  in  from  the  gutter.  Ida  and  Bub- 
bele,  surprised  to  hear  Sarah's  voice,  looked  round. 

"Oo,  ma!"  they  cried  running  happily  to  her,  their 
pace  set  by  Bubbele  whose  baby  legs  were  not  always 
equal  to  their  task. 

Sarah  wiped  Bubbele's  mouth  and  ran  her  fingers 
through  her  hair  to  straighten  it.  "You  have  spots  on 
your  dress,  and  pull  your  stockings  up,"  she  said  to  Ida, 
and  next:  "Where  is  Minnie?" 

"She  is  wid  Miss  Lacey,  and  is  gonna  come  right 
back." 

Miss  Lacey,  a  sweet  young  thing,  the  product  of  Up- 
per New  York's  lap,  had  reached  Minnie's  ken  by  way 
of  Miss  Liebman.  Once  when  Minnie  had  gone  to  Miss 
Liebman's  home  on  an  errand  for  Sarah,  the  young 
woman,  attracted  by  her  mature  little  ways,  had  engaged 
her  in  conversation.  The  visit  resulted  in  Minnie's  be- 
coming eager  to  join  a  girls'  club  at  the  Queen's  Daugh- 
ters, a  neighborhood  house.  Sarah  objected.  "Settle- 
ment" smacked  of  charity.  Charity  was  the  last  thing 
Sarah  aspired  to  for  her  children.  But  Minnie's  insist- 
ence had  finally  wearied  her  into  consent. 

Scarcely  had  Ida  spoken  when  Minnie  came  skipping 
along,  flushed  and  happy. 

"Uh,  ma,"  she  began,  "Miss  Lacey "    Minnie  was 

Miss  Lacey's  devotee. 

"Your  Miss  Lacey!"  Sarah  interrupted  testily,  for  if 
Sarah  had  nothing  else  against  MissaLacey,  enough  that 
she  was  a  Gentile.  Gentiles  might  be  good  but  they  at- 


ELI  AS  109 

tempted  to  proselytize  and  she  preferred  that  her  chil- 
dren steer  clear  of  them.  "Better  go  and  buy  your  papa 
soda  water." 

With  the  cracked  pitcher  under  her  arm,  Minnie  went 
across  the  street  for  the  two  glasses  of  "vanilla"  and 
returned  with  it  still  healthily  sizzling.  The  pitcher 
passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  for  "sips."  Sarah  refused 
the  cup  of  good  fellowship  much  to  the  children's 
distress. 

Cautioning  her  not  to  trip  on  the  broken  step,  Sarah 
despatched  Minnie  to  her  father  with  the  refreshing 
beverage. 

Elias,  who  had  quite  forgotten  about  the  proffered 
drink,  was  touched  by  Sarah's  thoughtfulness.  He  rose 
and  poured  out  a  scanty  glassful  for  himself  and  offered 
the  rest  to  Minnie.  She  took  a  few  sips.  "Kin  I  take 
the  rest  to  mama?"  she  asked. 

Elias  took  her  close  to  him  and  kissed  her.  "She  is 
not  like  the  other  children,"  he  mused  wistfully  as  he 
watched  her  step  to  the  door  as  cautiously  as  a  tight- 
rope walker. 

Sarah  was  pleased  when  Minnie  brought  the  soda  to 
her. 

"She  is  not  like  the  other  children,"  thought  she  with 
mournful  pride,  "she  is  more  like  my  family."  Her 
heart  swelled  with  a  passionate  yearning  for  the  future 
welfare  of  her  daughter,  in  which  bitterness  at  her 
own  lot  was  mingled.  How  ugly,  sordid,  unsuited 
to  the  gentler  promise  of  her  girlhood  was  her  life! 
If  Minnie's  fate  could  only  be  in  accord  with  the  tradi- 
tion of  ease  and  refinement  of  her  mother's  side  of  the 
family — if  only  she  would  not  marry  an  Elias!  .  .  . 
Minnie  would  go  through  high  school  and  through  col- 


i io  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

lege  too ;  here,  in  America,  girls  became  teachers,  doc- 
tors, lawyers;  they  married  educated  gentlemen — Minnie 
had  a  "golden  head" — who  could  know  what  brilliant  lot 
was  in  store  for  her!  .  .  .  Sarah's  eyes  lighted  on  the 
drab  tenement  opposite,  on  the  rusty  fire  escapes,  littered 
with  ragged,  soiled  bedding,  on  which  lay  babies  asleep, 
then  dropped  upon  the  neglected  children  in  the  gutter 
and  the  long  line  of  slovenly  maternity  edging  the  side- 
walk. And  she  wondered  miserably  what  Fate  really 
had  in  store  for  her  child. 


XX 


Mrs.  Ratkin  informed  the  Landlord  between  hems  and 
haws — for  she  shivered  and  she  shook  in  the  presence  of 
her  Mighty  Superior — that  Mrs.  Mendel  had  declared 
her  intention  of  moving. 

Nonchalance  is  unknown  to  the  lowly.  Always  keyed 
up  to  a  fear  of  the  worst,  Mrs.  Ratkin  could  not  under- 
stand how  the  Landlord,  confronted  with  the  possible 
loss  of  a  tenant  and  of  Ready  Cash,  remained  so  indif- 
ferent. He  evinced  not  the  least  concern ;  on  the  con- 
trary, he  passed  to  other  details  as  if  he  had  not  heard 
the  momentous  news,  and  departed  to  secure  his  rentals 
without  a  word  of  comment  on  Mrs.  Mendel. 

Uninformed  Mrs.  Ratkin!  Her  mind  did  not  grasp 
the  fact  that  her  Mighty  Superior,  standing  firmly  on 
both  legs,  could  afford  to  have  a  whole  one  removed, 
while  she,  tottering  on  only  a  fraction  of  a  single  weak- 
leg,  could  not  afford  to  have  that  fraction  so  much  as 
threatened. 

She  poured  out  her  astonishment — mingled  with  dis- 
appointment— to  her  husband. 


ELI  AS  in 

"A  man  should  not  care  a  bit  about  his  houses!  I 
tell  him  Mrs.  Mendel  will  move — so  Mrs.  Mendel  will 
move — and  he  says  nothing ;  he  walks  up  the  stairs,  and 
nothing!" 

Sarah  made  many  efforts  to  find  better  rooms.  Those 
on  Madison  Street  recommended  by  Mira  had  the  for- 
bidding quality  of  costing  two  dollars  more  a  month; 
with  that  increment  all  calculations  failed  to  produce 
an  equation  between  income  and  expenditure. 

Though  Elias  was  aware  of  her  weary  searches,  he 
never  inquired  into  the  results — which  did  not  pass  un- 
noticed or  unresented  by  Sarah.  One  Saturday  she 
yielded  to  a  nagging  impulse  to  rouse  him  out  of  his 
lethargy.  House-hunting  during  the  week,  she  told  him, 
with  all  her  other  duties,  was  hard  for  her;  the  family 
together  ought  to  go  and  look  on  Saturdays.  The  inner 
quaking  with  which  she  put  the  proposal  (since  house- 
hunting might  be  considered  an  infringement  of  the  Sab- 
bath) was  evident  in  her  manner  and  brought  ready  con- 
sent from  Elias,  who  was  moved  tenderly  by  his  wife's 
new-born  fractional  timidity.  He  loved  her  for  it. 

They  investigated  every  place  displaying  a  "Room-To- 
Let"  sign.  But,  alas,  no  rooms  except  two  wretched  ones 
in  a  basement  were  as  cheap  as  those  they  occupied.  At 
the  end  of  the  futile  hunt  Elias  suggested  that  they 
should  remain  where  they  were.  Sarah  lowered  her 
head,  resentful  and  disheartened. 

"You  are  always  satisfied." 

"Satisfied?"  Elias  exclaimed.  "I  would  rather  live 
nicer,  too,  my  wife,  but — maybe  when  it  gets  busier  I 
will  get  a  dollar  raise.  Then  we  can  afford  to  pay 
more." 

Before  Elias  received  a  dollar  raise,  Sarah  reflected 


112  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

bitterly,  the  bedbugs  and  roaches  and  worms  and  Mrs. 
Ratkin  might  commit  murder  upon  the  family ;  she 
could  increase  their  income  sooner  herself.  "To-mor- 
row," she  resolved,  "1*11  ask  Miss  Liebman  to  get  me  a 
third  Lady." 

But  during  the  night  Elias  was  very  ill,  and  the  next 
morning  he  could  not  go  to  work.  Nor  could  Sarah. 
Minnie  was  despatched  with  a  message  to  the  girls.  Both 
Sarah's  and  Elias's  earnings  for  the  day  were  lost. 

The  first  of  the  following  month  the  Landlord  came 
for  the  rent,  and  Sarah  paid  it.  Another  month  in  the 
same  rooms,  with  their  long  torturing  hours  of  heat  and 
pests !  Sarah's  heart  withered  at  the  prospect. 

When  Mrs.  Ratkin  observed  that  the  name  Mendel 
was  missing  from  the  list  of  delinquents  whom  she  was 
to  plague  for  rent  during  the  month,  she  remarked  to 
her  husband,  half  in  annoyance  at  still  having  to  put  up 
with  "that  Mendel"  woman  and  half  in  satisfied  spite  that 
Sarah  had  not  risen  to  better  quarters: 

"They  were  not  on  the  list  of  the  others.  She  paid 
the  rent.  They  will  stay,  I  suppose.  A  black  year  on 
them!" 

XXI 

"I'm  gone  Sunday  by  Cooney  Island  to  holler  all  sum- 
mer on  a  stand."  This  news  Minnie  sprang  on  Abie  in 
the  yard  as  he  was  intently  watching  the  efforts  of  a 
horse-fly  to  free  itself  from  between  his  thumb  and  fore- 
finger. His  attention  was  drawn  from  the  fly  only  long 
enough  for  a  casual  glance  at  Minnie. 

"Let  it  alone,  it  hurts,"  cried  Minnie,  slapping  his  hand. 
The  insect,  freed,  flew  off. 


ELI  AS  113 

"Uh,  you  crazycat!    Like  a  fly  kin  feel!    J'ever!" 

"Sure!    It  hurts." 

"You  know?"  he  asked  skeptically.  "How  do  you 
know?"  Abie  was  not  satisfied  with  intuition.  He  re- 
quired pure  reason. 

Having  nothing  for  proof  but  her  imagination,  which 
told  her  that  a  fly  squeezed  between  two  fingers  must 
suffer  pain,  Minnie  was  silenced. 

"I  was  by  the  country  once  and  sawn  lots — millions 
of  big  flies,"  Abie  boasted.  "And  I  tore  their  wings  and 
everything " 

"I'm  gone  Sunday  by  Cooney  Island  to  holler  on  a 
stand,"  Minnie  repeated,  trying  tactfully  to  change  the 
painful  subject.  "I'm  gone  for  the  whole  summer, 
and " 

"It  was  by  Brownsville.  So  my  father  took  my  sister 
and  me.  We  picked  all  kind  a  flowers.  So  a  girl,  I 
gave  her  a  scratch,  so  she  gave  me  a  punch,  so  I  gave 
her  a  push,  so  she  gave  me  a  hack,  so  my  father  took  the 
flowers  and  knocked  them  away."  Abie  paused  a  mo- 
ment. "But  he  didn't  holler  nothin'  'bout  the  flies."  Ir- 
refutable proof  that  vivisection  of  flies  was  legiti- 
mate. 

"Was  you  ever  by  Cooney  Island?"  Minnie  asked, 
eager  to  escape  this  topic  of  tortured  flies. 

"How  you  gone?"  The  question  as  put,  while  an  ad- 
mission that  Abie  had  never  been  to  Coney  Island,  also 
expressed  his  skepticism  as  to  Minnie's  going.  Though 
he  had  never  caught  her  in  a  misstatement  of  fact,  yet  it 
was  his  way  to  require  proof. 

How  Minnie  came  to  serve  as  a  puller-in  at  Coney 
Island  was  the  climax  of  many  circumstances. 

In  the  first  place,  the  butcher  who  employed   Sarah 


ii4  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

had  taken  unto  himself  another  wife,  with  the  distinct 
understanding  that  the  marital  compact  was  to  include 
concerted  interest  in  the  business ;  and  as  the  new  spouse 
replaced  Sarah  at  the  job  of  plucking  chickens,  the  Men- 
del income  was  reduced  by  nearly  a  dollar  a  week.  Then, 
the  bachelor  girls,  whose  apartment  Sarah  cleaned  on 
Sundays,  had  gone  on  their  summer  vacation  for  four 
weeks.  (One  man's  meat  is  another  man's  poison.) 
Finally,  Elias  continued  to  ail.  In  spite  of  his  valiant 
efforts  to  down  his  weakness,  he  was  obliged  every  now 
and  then  to  stay  away  from  work,  and  so  lost  the  day's 
wages.  Though  Elias's  employer  was  a  considerate  man, 
he  could  only  conform  to  the  accepted  rule  in  the  labor 
market,  according  to  which  an  employee  is  docked  for 
absence.  He,  too,  had  to  eke  out  a  living. 

Sarah  was  compelled  to  borrow,  now  a  dollar  from 
Mira,  now  from  a  relative.  But  borrowing  is  a  sorry 
business.  The  gift  of  delicacy  in  giving  is  confined  to 
the  very  few.  Sarah  was  miserable. 

However,  in  the  balancing  scale  of  human  affairs,  it 
chanced  that  a  man  and  a  woman,  acquaintances  of  rela- 
tives of  the  Mendels,  were  wedded,  and  their  union  was 
to  play  a  role  in  the  Mendel  economy. 

On  a  day  in  mid-July  there  descended  upon  Henry 
Street  and  ascended  upon  the  Mendel  family  ample  Riva 
and  near-skeleton  Morris,  the  newly-weds. 

Morris  was  a  man  whom  idealism  had  emaciated. 
Dreaming  of  a  college  education  he  had  worked  days 
as  assistant  to  a  watchmaker  and  had  studied  nights. 
Several  years  of  this  regimen  reduced  him  to  blue  glasses 
and  the  conviction  that  life  was  one  Grand  Damn  Thing. 
He  was  meditating  suicide  about  the  time  that  Riva, 
ample  of  body  and  jovial  of  spirit,  appeared  in  his  board- 


ELI  AS  115 

ing  house  and  by  some  odd  fate  fell  in  love  with  him. 
Via  the  "Missus"  of  the  establishment,  the  lure  of  Pos- 
itive Comfort  was  held  out  to  him  if  he  would  take 
Riva  in  marriage.  He  shilly-shallied.  Marriage  devoid 
of  romance  he  deemed  unbeautiful.  But  as  in  Riva's 
Coney  Island  stand  there  loomed  the  possible  realization 
of  his  dream  of  a  college  education,  he  one  day  early  in 
July  promised  for  all  his  life  to  love  and  cherish  Riva. 
As  the  season  was  advancing,  the  New  Alliance,  upon 
Morris's  suggestion,  decided  that  extra  help  was  desir- 
able. Someone  was  needed  to  advertise  the  wares,  to 
cry :  "Peanuts !  Candy !  Ice-Cold  Lemonade !"  They 
mentioned  their  needs  to  the  aforesaid  relatives  of  the 
Mendels,  and  promptly  Minnie  was  proposed:  "a  smart 
girl  who  can  holler  like  gold,"  they  said. 

Elias,  strangely,  had  not  yet  returned  from  work  when 
the  New  Alliance  made  its  ascent  upon  the  Mendels  on 
a  Wednesday  evening.  The  part  of  the  shop  in  which 
he  spent  most  of  his  time  had  once  boasted  a  window 
which  was  now  boarded  up  because  the  boss  felt  he 
could  not  afford  to  replace  the  broken  pane;  it  would 
have  cost  fifty  cents.  The  work-room  was  a  strip  of 
space  running  back  from  two  windows  facing  Allen 
Street  on  a  level  with  the  tracks  of  the  elevated  trains. 
Even  the  more  robust  of  the  workmen  found  the  thun- 
dering noise  and  dust  raised  by  the  passing  trains  a  hard- 
ship. By  the  end  of  each  day  Elias's  strength  was  re- 
duced to  nothing.  Yet  he  had  become  accustomed  to 
the  homelikeness  of  the  place  and  the  friendliness  of  the 
boss,  and  shrank  from  making  a  change.  Besides,  what 
else  could  he  do?  Eight  dollars  a  week!  And  how 
great  was  the  fortune  to  be  free  from  harassing  worry 
about  the  Sabbath! 


ii6  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

The  day  had  been  stifling.  Elias  had  pulled  through 
his  work  only  by  the  greatest  force  of  will  power.  In 
the  afternoon  he  could  scarcely  stand  upright.  At  clos- 
ing time,  just  as  the  boss  and  a  young  helper  were  leav- 
ing (Elias  was  always  the  last  to  go),  he  uttered  a 
hysterical  shriek  and  went  down  on  the  floor  in  a  heap. 
The  boss  and  helper  ran  to  his  aid,  and  workers  from  an 
upstairs  shop  brought  remedial  measures  for  a  faint — 
water  and  vinegar.  When  Elias  came  to,  he  was  apolo- 
getic for  having  caused  so  much  trouble  and  worry.  The 
boss  insisted  on  seeing  him  home.  At  the  tenement  door 
Elias  apologized  for  not  inviting  him  up ;  he  was  afraid, 
he  said,  that  his  wife  would  be  alarmed. 

"I  stayed  for  a  chat  with  the  boss,"  he  explained  in 
response  to  Sarah's  inquiry. 

As  to  Minnie's  serving  the  utilitarian  purpose  sug- 
gested by  the  New  Alliance,  his  opinion  inclined  neither 
one  way  nor  another.  He  was  too  feeble  for  positive 
judgment.  Sarah  sensed  apathy  and  was  filled  with  re- 
sentment. "You  have  some  idea,"  she  said  with  slight 
spirit. 

"Ask  the  child,"  Elias  said.  "If  she  wants  to,  let 
her  go." 

Minnie  just  then  bounced  in  from  the  street.  Riva 
was  disappointed  at  sight  of  the  delicate  little  girl.  It 
had  not  crossed  her  mind  that  she  would  find  anything 
but  a  child  replica  of  her  beefy,  blowzy  self — a  big  one, 
a  thick  one,  a  fat  one,  as  she  might  have  put  it  in  Yiddish. 
However,  her  need  for  a  "puller-in"  was  great  and  the 
pay  she  intended  to  offer  was  small,  so  she  turned 
to  Minnie  with  inducements.  "In  Cooney  Island  you 
will  see  it's  wonderful,"  she  said.  "Punch-and-Judy 
shows,  and  music,  peanuts,  soda  and  everything."  She 


ELIAS  117 

looked  down  at  the  child's  feet  and  turned  to  Sarah. 
"If  she  will  stay  all  summer,  111  buy  her  a  pair  of  yellow 
shoes,  and  I'll  present  you  with  five  dollars  in  advance. 
She  can  come  Sunday  and  stay  till  school  begins." 

"Do  you  want  to  go,  child?"  askd  Sarah. 

With  her  thumb  in  her  mouth  Minnie  mumbled: 
"Yeh." 

The  deal  was  closed.  The  New  Alliance  was  to  call 
for  Minnie  the  following  Sunday. 

Thus  Fate  provided  Riva  and  Morris  with  the  "puller- 
in"  for  their  refreshment-stand  and  Sarah  and  Elias  with 
five  dollars  Cash  on  Delivery  of  their  offspring,  and  Abie 
Ratkin  with  the  surprise  of  surprises  when  a  few  days 
after  she  had  made  the  announcement  to  his  skeptical 
self,  Minnie  actually  went  off  sandwiched  between  the 
fat  Missus  and  the  lean  Mister. 

XXII 

Though  no  mention  was  made  of  the  fact  in  the  society 
columns  of  the  New  York  press,  the  Mendel  family, 
with  the  exception,"  of  course,  of  Minnie,  spent  the  sum- 
mer at  their  residence  on  Henry  Street.  Great  Stress, 
after  its  temporary,  half-hearted  absence,  became  again 
a  devoted  intimate. 

Sarah  might,  perhaps,  have  fallen  into  her  disagree- 
able ways  again  had  not  Elias  continued  to  ail.  From 
day  to  day  he  seemed  visibly  to  shrink ;  his  step  to  be- 
come more  leaden,  his  face  paler  and  paler.  One  eve- 
ning, a  few  days  after  Minnie's  departure  for  Coney 
Island,  Sarah,  standing  beside  the  sink,  turned  unexpect- 
edly and  saw  him  spit  blood  into  it.  She  was  terrified. 
Had  he  ever  spat  blood  before?  Elias  confessed. 


n8  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"Woe  is  me!"  she  cried,  "there  are  the  five  dollars 
from  Riva.  Go  to  a  doctor.  How  does  a  man  spit 
blood  for  months  and  not  do  something?" 

Spend  money  for  a  doctor!  Elias  would  not  hear 
of  such  a  thing.  It  would  pass  away,  he  was  sure; 
it  was  only  the  hot  weather. 

But  Sarah's  fears  were  not  allayed.  She  confided 
in  Mira. 

"If  he  will  not  spend  money  for  a  doctor"  (Mira 
considered  Elias  parsimonious),  "then  you  ought  to 
make  him  stay  at  home  some  good  day,  some  day  when 
he  is  feeling  well  and  not  falling  from  his  feet,  and 
take  him  to  the  dispensary,  a  place  where  poor  people 
are  treated  free  by  doctors." 

Sarah  shrank.  "Poor  people"  recalled  the  Charities. 
She  sighed  with  apprehension. 

"Nu,  what  are  you  sighing  for?  It  is  not  so  ter- 
rible." There  was  more  pity  in  Mira's  heart  than  in 
her  words. 

Sarah  proposed  the   dispensary  to  Elias. 

"Oh,  Sarah,"  he  replied,  "zolst  du  gesunt  sein  (thou 
shouldst  be  well),  don't  fill  my  head  with  such  non- . 
sense.  I  do  not  feel  so  sick.  It  will  pass."  He  always 
pretended  to  feel  better  than  he  actually  did,  though 
several  times  within  the  next  weeks  he  was  compelled 
to  stay  away  from  work. 

But  the  black  cloud  lost  a  shade  of  its  blackness.  A 
more  successful  relative  learning  of  the  Mendels'  plight 
persuaded  them  to  accept  a  loan  of  two  dollars  a  week, 
and  by  the  end  of  August  Miss  Liebman  and  her 
friends  returned  from  their  vacation.  At  the  same 
time  the  hearts  of  Sarah  and  Elias  were  gladdened  by 
happy  postal  cards  from  Minnie.  "Thank  God,"  Elias 


ELI  AS  119 

remarked  occasionally,  "one  of  the  children  is  having  a 

pleasant  time." 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *    ' 

In  all  parts  of  the  metropolis  people  succumbed  from 
the  heat.  The  residents  of  the  twin  tenements,  the  Rat- 
kins  setting  the  fashion,  one  after  another — mothers, 
fathers,  boys,  girls — abandoned  their  rooms  at  night  and 
dragged  pillows  and  mattresses  to  the  roof. 

One  night,  after  having  partaken  too  freely  of  ice-cold 
lemonade  (lemonade  with  a  history  in  which  Abie  played 
the  leading  role),  Mr.  Ratkin  awakened  his  wife  who, 
having  worked  hard  that  day,  lay  beside  him  on  the  roof 
steeped  in  the  slumber  of  the  worthy. 

"Wake  up,  wake  up."    He  shook  her.    "I  feel  bad." 

Mrs.  Ratkin  woke  up,  and  soon  Mr.  Ratkin  went  to 
sleep — his  eternal  sleep. 

The  Mendels  and  other  neighbors  were  awakened  by 
Mrs.  Ratkin's  unearthly  shrieks.  In  a  few  moments 
Itzick  Ratkin  was  carried  to  his  home,  and  within  the 
same  space  of  time  the  home  became  crowded  with  men, 
women,  and  children  of  every  sort,  size,  and  shape.  The 
physician,  summoned  by  one  cooler-headed  man,  dis- 
persed the  crowd  and  upon  examination  pronounced  Mr. 
Ratkin  dead.  The  news  spread  like  wild-fire,  and  the 
combined  populace  hurled  itself  upon  the  physician  in  in- 
credulity. But  Itzick  Ratkin  was  dead.  Heart  failure, 
was  the  unsatisfactory  explanation.  How  Mrs.  Ratkin 
mourned  and  moaned  that  her  husband  had  not  at  least 
been  sick — sick,  so  that  she  could  feel  the  justification 

of  his  dying! 

******* 

Outside  the  front  tenement  a  curious  mob  had 
gathered. 


120 

"It's  a  funeral,"  went  about  in  whispers — a  funeral 
variously  speculated  to  be  that  of  a  child,  a  woman,  an 
old  man,  an  expectant  young  mother,  a  girl,  and  the  jani- 
tress's  husband. 

On  the  fringe  of  the  crowd  stood  a  thin  little  girl,  her 
great  gray  eyes  wide  with  astonishment.  What  was  this 
gathering  in  front  of  her  home?  Who  was  in  that  un- 
beautiful  coffin  just  then  being  carried  out  of  the  house? 

Minnie's  heart  stood  still.  Edging  her  way  closer,  she 
saw  Mrs.  Ratkin,  followed  by  Abie,  who  was  followed 
by  the  twins,  all  mourning  their  loss.  And  when  the 
crowd  thinned  out,  there  stood  Sarah  Mendel  with  eyes 
red  from  crying.  Minnie  ran  up  to  her. 

"God  mine,  Minnie!"  Sarah  clutched  her  terror- 
stricken.  What  had  brought  her?  Sarah  could  scarcely 
realize  it  was  her  own  little  child.  Where  had  she  come 
from  so  all  of  a  sudden  ?  She  thought  her  safe  at  Coney 
Island. 

Wrhen  Riva  and  Morris  had  called  to  take  Minnie 
away,  Sarah,  overcome  by  nameless  fears,  had  been  loath 
to  let  the  child  go  and  had  almost,  at  the  eleventh  hour, 
retracted  her  consent.  Now  her  imagination  leapt  to  all 
sorts  of  horrors. 

"What's  the  matter  ?"  she  cried.  "What  has  happened 
to  you?  Woe  is  me!" 

"Uh,  ma,  I'm  so  glad  I'm  home,"  sighed  Minnie,  snug- 
gling in  her  mother's  skirts  as  she  wiped  away  the  tears 
of  homesickness. 

XXIII 

Upstairs  came  the  explanation. 

It  was  under  the  supervision,  in  fact,  at  the  dictation 
of  Riva,  that  Minnie  had  sent  home  the  postal  cards  tell- 


ELI  AS  121 

ing  of  her  wonderful  life  in  a  whirl  of  Punch-and-Judy 
shows,  which  could  "kill"  one  with  the  fun,  and  music 
enough  to  make  one  "deaf,"  and  good  things  to  eat, 
enough  to  make  one  "burst." 

The  truth  was,  that  while  the  Riva-Morris  residence 
consisted  of  one  whole  room  (rented  for  the  season),  in 
which  they  occupied  the  one  real  bed,  Minnie's  share  in 
it  was  the  floor  softened  by  a  few  old  coats,  a  sofa  cush- 
ion, and  a  strip  of  cheese-cloth.  Here,  in  the  dead  of 
night  Minnie  shed  her  honest  tears  of  homesickness.  Oh, 
how  homesick  she  was !  Her  homesickness  had  begun 
the  very  moment  the  Henry  Street  tenement  was  out  of 
sight.  And  how  the  weeks  had  intensified  it !  The  few 
times  the  Alliance  had  found  her  crying  they  reminded 
her  that  five  dollars  for  her  services  were  already  in  her 
mother's  keep  and  that  yellow  shoes  and  a  dress  in 
prospect  were  not  to  be  despised.  Perhaps  had  Minnie 
guessed  how  she  was  missed  at  home  she  would  have 
made  her  escape  regardless  of  these  considerations.  But 
little  did  she  know  that  five  minutes  after  she  had  left, 
Bubbele  insisted  that  Minnie  ought  to  be  there  to  comb 
her  hair,  and  Ida  sulked  on  general  principle,  while  when 
Elias  returned  from  work  the  home  seemed  terribly 
empty  to  him;  and  Jacob  at  bedtime  thought  it  was 
"funny  kind  a  to  lock  the  door  without  not  Minnie  be- 
ing in." 

Abie  too  had  missed  her.  He  approached  Ida  and  at 
the  point  of  a  wooden  gun  insisted  on  information  as 
to  when  her  big  sister  would  be  back.  But  Ida  was 
a  "dunce;"  a  year  and  a  day  were  the  same  to  her. 
Gee! 

In  time  he  tackled  Sarah.  It  was  one  day  after  his 
discovery  of  the  Great  Blessing. 


122  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

On  East  Broadway  a  man  hauled  a  wooden  box  out 
of  a  basement.  Abie,  passing,  saw  and  became  curious. 
He  waited  for  the  man  to  descend,  then  cautiously 
peeped  into  the  box.  Oh,  joy!  lemons!  speckled  lem- 
ons, to  be  sure,  some  more  speckled  than  other,  but 
lemons  nevertheless.  He  collected  a  few  and  was  about 
to  make  off  when  the  man  reappeared,  and  so  frightened 
him  that  the  fruit  fell  from  his  hands. 

"Gu  het,  take  'em,  little  boy,"  said  the  man.  "You 
can  come  every  day  and  take  some." 

After  that  the  Ratkin  family  regaled  themselves  daily 
with  the  delicious  drink  made  from  the  "good"  parts  of 
the  lemons,  and  Mr.  Ratkin  began  to  see  a  redeeming  fea- 
ture in  his  son,  little  dreaming  that  Abie's  lemons  were 
to  be  his  undoing. 

Returning  one  day  with  lemons  galore,  Abie,  meeting 
Sarah,  had  an  inspiration.  He  held  out  two,  "good" 
sides  up.  "I  got  em  for  nothin', "  he  said  as  an  induce- 
ment, because  Sarah  looked  ready  to  refuse.  "How?" 
asked  Sarah.  "From  a  man  who  knocks  them  away." 
Elias  had  been  ill  that  day;  he  had  stayed  away  from 
work ;  cold  water,  lemon  and  sugar — "Er  wet  sich  up- 
chapen  die  hars,"  (be  refreshed)  thought  Sarah.  She 
took  the  lemons  and  hid  them  under  her  apron.  Her 
back  was  already  turned.  Abie's  courage  took  fire. 
"When  is  Minnie  comin'  back,  Mrs.  Mendel  ?"  he  asked. 

A  swift  change  in  the  state  of  Sarah's  heart  toward 
her  benefactor.  "Nu,  loafer,"  she  said  turning  upon 
him,  "is  it  your  business?  When  she  will  come  back, 
she  will  come  back.  You  need  someone  to  quarrel  with 
maybe  ?" 

"Fresh  thing!"  grumbled  Abie,  lamenting  the  waste 
of  his  lemons. 


ELIAS  123 

As  Saturdays  and  Sundays  were  the  busiest  days  in 
Coney  Island,  the  Riva-Morris  corporation  prepared  an 
extra  quantity  of  home-made  lemonade  on  Fridays.  It 
was  a  calamity,  therefore,  when  one  Friday  evening  the 
stick  with  which  Riva  compounded  the  savory  beverage 
in  a  wooden  wash-basin  disappeared.  Tears  of  vexation 
came  to  Riva's  eyes  as  she  bent  her  profuse  body  to 
hunt  in  all  corners  of  the  cluttered  room.  Minnie  had 
to  crawl  under  the  bed  while  she  rummaged  in  the  dis- 
order of  the  bed  itself,  then  had  to  help  her  shove  pack- 
ages, boxes  and  furniture  from  place  to  place,  and  finally 
was  sent  to  ask  the  landlady  if  she  had  seen  the  stick. 
"Maybe  Morris  put  it  away,"  suggested  Minnie  on  re- 
turning from  the  landlady.  But  the  frantic  Riva  would 
not  wait  for  Morris.  She  had  another  solution.  She 
rolled  her  sleeves  up  and  made  her  arm  do  the  rotatory 
work  of  the  stick. 

Now  Sarah  and  Elias  were  agreed  about  one  thing; 
that  Minnie's  sensitive  stomach  was  an  inheritance  from 
her  father.  "The  least  thing  makes  her  sick,"  Sarah 
often  complained.  The  sight  of  Riva's  dirty  sweaty  arm 
immersed  in  the  lemonade — lemonade  that  people,  Min- 
nie knew,  would  be  drinking — lemonade  such  as  she  her- 
self had  partaken  of  many  times,  turned  her  sick.  She 
retched  and  vomited. 

Riva  conveniently  diagnosed  her  trouble  as  sea-sick- 
ness— for  were  they  not  close  to  the  ocean  ?  She  offered 
her  a  drink  of  the  lemonade. 

Horror  of  horrors ! 

"I  don't  want  the  lemonade." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  it's  dirty." 

Wailing  wall  of  Jerusalem!    Whatever  possessed    the 


124  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

child  to  say  so!  Her  answer  brought  down  upon  her 
head  a  deluge  of  abuse.  She  received  it  in  silence. 

The  next  day  Riva  noted  that  Minnie  omitted  lemon- 
ade from  her  verbal  advertisement  of  the  refreshments. 
"Doesn't  it  suit  you  to  call  lemonade  too  ?"  she  demanded 
angrily. 

"It's  dirty." 

''What's  dirty?" 

"You  stucked  your  hand  in  it." 

From  the  slops  of  the  East  Side  comes  this  impudent 
T>rat  to  tell  Riva  that  her  hand  is  dirty!  The  Alliance 
was  overcome  with  fury.  The  following  day  Minnie  was 
shipped  home,  Morris  putting  her  on  the  car  and  instruct- 
ing the  conductor  where  to  let  her  off. 

"It's  nearly  the  end  of  the  season  anyway,"  Riva  said 
to  Morris,  rejoicing  in  the  secret  recesses  of  her  heart 
that  she  would  save  the  money  for  the  shoes  and  the 
dress. 

XXIV 

Elias  awoke  very  ill  the  night  following  Mr.  Ratkin's 
death.  Sarah  felt  his  temples  and  concluded  his  was  a 
case  of  "hot  head,"  which  is  the  manifestation  of  illness 
to  our  tenement  friends  and  the  forerunner  of  the 
worst  evil.  Sarah  grew  excited.  He  must  have  a  doctor, 
was  her  firm  decision,  and  she  would  summon  one  the 
very  first  thing  in  the  morning.  A  crisp  two-dollar 
bill  was  in  her  possession,  more  than  enough  in  those 
days  when  a  physician  demanded  fifty  cents  a  visit. 

Mira  dropped  in  at  seven  o'clock  the  next  morning 
to  ask  if  Sarah  cared  to  go  with  her  to  a  store  on  Hester 
Street  where  cracked  eggs  were  to  be  had  for  "next  to 


ELIAS  125 

nothing."  Sarah  told  her  of  Elias's  condition.  Indeed, 
he  must  have  a  doctor  was  also  her  verdict ;  and  she  went 
right  down  and  brought  back  a  Doctor  Levin,  who  had 
saved  the  life  of  one  of  her  neighbor's  children  when  an- 
other physician  had  given  the  case  up  as  hopeless. 

Elias  could  not  be  cured  of  his  lung  trouble,  said  Doc- 
tor Levin,  unless  he  went  to  the  country  for  six  months. 

Elias  sick  with  lung  trouble!  Sarah,  Minnie,  Ida, 
Bubbele,  Jacob  stood  awestruck.  This  that  they  had 
heard  could  not  possibly  be ! 

But  Mira  had  her  own  opinion  in  the  matter.  "The 
country  is  a  hospital  maybe  ?"  she  asked,  measuring  Doc- 
tor Levin  with  a  look. 

"Yes,  a  hospital  in  the  country." 

Did  not  Doctor  Levin  see  that  Elias  was  a  father  of 
children;  that  his  presence  on  earth  was  necessary,  and 
for  purposes  of  "practicing"  the  hospital  could  find  it- 
self another  man?  Mira  pursed  her  lips  defiantly;  her 
red  knob  of  hair  quivered. 

The  wise  East  Sider,  convinced  that  a  hospital  is  an 
establishment  which  snatches  up  the  bodies  of  the  poor 
to  practice  upon,  will  no  more  agree  to  send  a  patient 
there  than  he  will  agree  to  have  him  buried  alive.  Lack- 
ing Sarah's,  or  Itzick  Kramer's,  or  Schmuel  Rothen- 
berg's  experience  with  the  Peoples  Charities,  physicians 
have  failed  to  discover  how  these  people  come  by  their 
belief. 

Doctor  Levin,  a  young  man  new  in  his  profession,  dis- 
posed of  Mira  with  one  contemptous  look;  then  pleaded 
with  Elias  to  believe  that  nothing  but  a  long  rest  in  the 
country  would  save  him,  and  advised  him  to  go  just  as 
soon  as  arrangements  could  be  made  for  his  admission. 

Sarah  and  Elias  were  impressed  by   Doctor   Levin's 


126          SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

evident  sincerity.  Sarah,  accompanying  him  to  the  door 
followed  by  Minnie,  thanked  him,  and  asked  distractedly, 
as  if  speaking  to  herself: 

"Woe  is  me,  how  does  an  otherwise  perfectly  healthy 
and  strong  man  become  so  sick  all  of  a  sudden?" 

Doctor  Levin  flashed  round  upon  her  in  youthful 
amazement. 

"How  ?    By  living  against  all  the  laws  of  nature." 

His  words,  solemn  and  ominous,  remained  with  Min- 
nie the  rest  of  her  life. 

For  a  few  days  Sarah  found  herself  with  scarcely  a 
moment  in  which  to  give  any  particular  thought  to  Elias, 
who  as  it  happened  felt  somewhat  better.  She  cooked 
for  Mrs.  Ratkin,  washed  for  her,  cleaned  her  home,  fed 
her  children  and  provided  consolation.  The  janitress 
was  sadly  broken  down;  she  could  not  pull  herself  to- 
gether. The  tenants  had  even  to  take  over  her  janitor's 
work.  Of  all  the  neighbors  Sarah  did  the  most.  She 
had  an  ailing  husband — "of  course,  Elias  would  not  die 

from  his  sickness,  but "  And  nothing  so  softens  us 

toward  our  fellows  as  to  see  them  visited  by  a  catas- 
trophe that  may  befall  us,  too. 

A  week  later  a  brother  of  Mrs.  Ratkin  turned  up,  and 
the  family  moved  away. 

XXV 

After  the  Ratkins'  departure  Minnie  was  left  much  to 
herself.  She  was  lonely;  she  missed  Abie.  And  she 
missed  Foxy,  who  had  gone  on  his  transmigratory  way. 
Poor  Foxy!  At  his  wits'  end  for  something  to  eat  he 
had  gorged  upon  some  refuse  in  a  neighboring  air-shaft 
and  the  next  day  departed  this  life. 


ELIAS  127 

One  afternoon  Minnie  tried  to  forget  her  loneliness  in 
a  game  of  school  with  a  dozen  pieces  of  coal  for  pupils 
set  in  a  row  on  the  lounge  against  the  wall.  Withdraw- 
ing a  foot  or  two  and  using  a  stick  as  a  ruler  she  pointed 
to  tfie  first  pupil. 

"Spell  cat,"  she  ordered.  No  answer.  "Spell  cat." 
Still  no  answer.  A  stupid  pupil!  She  passed  on  to  the 
next.  The  first  piece  of  coal  fell  over.  The  teacher 
raised  the  pupil  and  told  her  to  behave;  as  she  turned 
to  the  next  pupil  the  first  fell  over  again.  The  teacher 
frowned  and  compressed  her  lips  in  exact  imitation  of 
her  own  teacher.  Placing  one  hand  on  her  hip  and  rais- 
ing the  ruler,  she  dealt  the  naughty  pupil  a  sharp  rap. 
Something  impertinent  came  in  reply.  The  teacher 
looked  at  the  pupil  and  repeated  in  Doctor  Levin's  very 
tone  of  amazement:  "How?  By  living  against  all  the 
laws  of  nature!"  She  waited  as  if  to  give  time  for  the 
idea  to  sink  in,  then  repeated :  "By  living  against  all  the 
laws  of  nature!" 

Sarah  entered  with  the  purchases  for  the  evening  meal. 
Coal  on  the  lounge!  Didn't  Minnie  know  that  coal 
spoiled  a  lounge.  There  now,  never  mind,  Minnie 
should  begin  at  once  to  prepare  supper;  she  herself  had 
to  go  right  out  again  to  Mira. 

Sarah's  object  in  hurrying  to  Mira  was  to  obtain  that 
sage's  sanction  for  Elias  to  go  to  the  hospital.  Elias, 
who  had  got  much  worse,  had  consulted  Doctor  Levin 
again  and  was  now  waiting  to  be  sent  to  the  country: 
indeed,  he  was  eager  to  go.  A  heavy  cloud  hung  over 
Sarah.  Mira's  denunciation  of  the  country  rang  an  ill 
omen  in  her  heart.  Mira  knew  so  much  about  every- 
thing. What  if  Elias  would  get  still  worse  in  the  coun- 
try? But  perhaps  if  the  sage  were  told  of  how  eager 


128  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Elias  was  to  go,  she  would  approve.  Sarah  would  also 
tell  her  of  a  cheap  room  she  had  found  in  a  basement 
on  Madison  Street — one  room  would  be  enough  for  them 
if  Elias  were  away ;  of  her  plans  for  doing  a  little  extra 
work — peddling  perhaps;  and  of  a  job  Minnie  had  se- 
cured— taking  care  of  the  butcher's  twins  at  five  cents 
an  afternoon.  They  could  struggle  through  six  months. 
If  only  Elias  would  get  better! 

Mira,  however,  was  not  to  be  shaken  from  her  opinion 
of  "countries;"  a  hospital  was  a  hospital,  country  or  no 
country,  and  a  hospital  was  a  slaughterhouse. 

On  the  way  back  home,  Sarah  tremblingly  decided  to 
talk  the  matter  over  again  with  Elias.  If  Mira  held  to 
her  conviction  so  unwaveringly,  maybe — maybe  there 
was  more  to  it  than  they  understood.  She  sighed  once, 
twice,  thrice — no  strict  account  can  be  kept  of  sighs 
in  Sarah  Mendel's  world. 

Scarcely  had  she  reached  home  when  Doctor  Levin 
came  bringing  the  notice  of  Elias's  admission  to  the  sani- 
tarium and  before  she  had  a  chance  to  voice  her  fears 
Elias  himself  entered  and  seemed  so  glad  that  she  had 
not  the  heart  to  discourage  him  with  Mira's  ideas. 
Sarah,  he  said,  would  see,  mer  zu  Shem  (God  willing), 
he  would  come  back  better  than  he  had  ever  been. 

The  following  Tuesday  Elias  went  away. 

A  week  later  Sarah  was  notified  that  Elias  was  very 
ill,  and  she  must  come  at  once.  Pneumonia  had  devel- 
oped from  a  severe  cold. 

Sarah  could  have  torn  the  flesh  from  her  body  as  at 
Elias's  bedside  in  the  sanitarium  she  watched  his  labored 
breathing  and  noted  the  fearfully  emaciated  face  with 
a  red  patch  on  each  sunken  cheek ;  his  fevered  tossing, 
the  heaving  of  his  flat  chest ;  the  gaze  of  his  eyes  as  he 


ELIAS  129 

opened  them  and  looked  unknowingly  at  her.  Mira  had 
been  right.  They  must  have  been  "practicing"  upon  him. 
She  followed  each  movement  of  the  doctor  and  nurse 
like  a  spy;  she  strained  every  nerve  to  understand  what 
they  were  saying.  When  Elias  moaned  as  they  moved" 
him,  she  could  have  shrieked. 

Mira,  as  soon  as  she  heard  that  Sarah  had  been  sum- 
moned, went  to  the  hospital  out  of  an  impulse  com- 
pounded of  curiosity,  a  desire  to  help,  a  desire  to  console, 
and  eagerness  to  get  in  her  "I  told  you  so." 

Sarah  shrank  and  cowered  when  Mira  appeared. 
From  the  narrowed  keen  little  blue  eyes  and  compressed 
thin  lips,  she  read  the  opinion  to  which  Mira  would  hold 
forever:  "Sarah  was  to  blame.  No  sensible  woman 
would  have  let  her  husband  go  to  a  country.  Country, 
schmuntry!  A  hospital,  that's  what  it  was."  However, 
Sarah's  look  of  misery  restrained  Mira's  tongue  and 
turned  her  intended  taunt  into  words  of  consolation: 
Sarah  should  hope  for  the  best. 

"Woe  is  me!"  Sarah  cried,  "if  only  he  comes  back 
alive,  I  will  be  content  with  bread  and  water  the  rest  of 
my  life." 

Mira  had  come  to  the  hospital  not  merely  to  stand 
around ;  she  had  come  to  be  of  use,  so  that  when 
the  physician  was  about  to  administer  a  hypodermic,  she 
told  him  to  substitute  a  glass  of  whisky.  Sarah,  con- 
vinced by  Mira's  confident  manner  that  the  glass  of 
whisky  was  the  one  thing  that  would  save  Elias,  eagerly 
seconded  the  request.  The  doctor,  anxious  to  do  his  best 
for  Elias,  tried  to  explain  that  the  hypodermic  and  not 
whisky  was  what  Elias  needed.  But  Mira,  only  the 
more  emboldened  by  his  indulgent  tone,  let  out  a  torrent 
of  abuse.  The  physician,  in  his  impotence  to  convince 


1 30  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

these  two  ignorant  women,  ordered  them  roughly  to 
mind  their  own  business — indisputable  proof  that  the  un- 
fortunate Elias  was  being  practiced  upon,  slaughtered. 
Sarah  and  Mira  turned  ashen. 

In  the  chill  hours  of  the  dawn  Sarah  sat  swaying  to 
and  fro,  clutching  at  her  hair  in  an  agony  of  grief.  She 
was  a  murderess,  a  murderess,  a  murderess,  she  told  her- 
self over  and  over. 

Elias  had  passed  away  that  night. 


PART   II 
THE    CELLAR 


PART  II 

THE  CELLAR 


CHAYIM  SCHLOPOBORSKY  kept  a  shoe  repair  shop  in  a 
cellar  on  Madison  Street.  In  the  rear  was  a  room  in- 
tended, according  to  the  architectural  plans,  for  the  living 
room.  As  Chayim  Schlopoborsky  was  obliged  to  live 
with  the  greatest  economy,  it  occurred  to  him  one  night, 
as  he  fought  for  sleep  against  the  noise  of  the  passing 
street  cars,  that  he  might  move  his  lounge,  table,  chair 
and  stove  from  the  back  room  to  the  shop,  partition 
part  of  the  shop  off  with  a  curtain,  and  live  and  work' 
in  the  shop.  The  rear  room  he  could  then  rent  out. 
Such  a  room  he  felt  ought  to  bring  him  five  dollars  a 
month.  The  following  day  he  made  his  inspiration 
known  to  the  Swedish  janitor,  who,  lame  in  the  use  of 
the  Yiddish  language,  had  difficulty  in  understanding. 
However,  once  he  did  understand,  he  smiled  approv- 
ingly ;  it  was  a  brilliant  idea ;  "Smart !"  he  cried,  pointing 
to  his  forehead  and  went  off  for  a  room-to-let  sign  for 
Chayim  Schlopoborsky  to  display  in  his  window. 

A  few  days  after  Elias  had  gone  to  the  sanitarium, 
Sarah,  carrying  out  their  plan  for  greater  economy, 
moved  with  her  four  children  into  Chayim  Schlopo- 
borsky's  cellar. 

******* 

Chayim  Schlopoborsky,  with  a  heart  not  altogether  of 
stone,  had  sympathy  for  Sarah  in  her  bereavement  and 
pitied  the  orphaned  children.  However,  after  the  first 

133 


134  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

flush  of  sympathy  wore  off  and  the  loud  talking  and 
wailing  in  Sarah's  quarters  annoyed  his  customers,  he 
was  obliged  to  remonstrate.  Thereafter,  Sarah  wept 
more  softly  and  so  did  the  children.  Relatives  and 
friends,  too,  were  restricted  to  modulated  lamentations. 
"The  man  next  door  from  whom  we  have  this  room 
rented  is  a  bad  one,"  Sarah  would  say  with  a  warning 

finger  to  her  lips. 

******* 

In  her  stupefaction  after  Elias's  death,  Sarah  lost  all 
concern  for  the  future.  She  gave  up  her  work  of  char- 
ring and  her  new  business  of  peddling  candles  on  Friday 
mornings,  and  even  neglected  her  housework.  While 
Mira  busied  herself  for  the  home  and  the  children,  she 
sat  idle,  wringing  her  hands,  crying  lamentations,  be- 
moaning Elias's  fate  and  the  fate  of  her  children. 

A  full  month  passed  and  Sarah  still  suffered  herself 
to  be  supported  by  relatives,  who  began  to  think  she 
was  a  little  too  indifferent  about  her  dependence.  A 
week  later  some  began  to  whisper  that  she  was  being 
"spoiled"  then  that  she  had  "chuzpeh"  (cheek).  Finally 
there  was  only  one  left  who  still  had  faith  in  her.  "She 
is  stunned.  When  she  comes  to  herself,  we  shall  be  able 
to  reason  with  her,"  he  declared.  Four  weeks  more 
passed,  yet  Sarah  gave  no  sign  of  waking  up  to  the  hard- 
ship that  her  dependence  imposed  upon  her  relatives. 
"As  if,"  they  said  boldly  now,  "she  does  not  know  that 
for  us  to  give  fifty  cents,  one  dollar,  two  dollars,  is  like 
tearing  off  our  skin  for  her."  A  little  later  they  cried* 
indignantly :  "Let  her  go  to  the  Charities  if  she  can't  do 
for  herself — but  let  her  have  mercy  on  us!  We  are  poor 
too." 

"We  cannot  propose  it,"  the  one  of  faith  said,  "she  is 


THE  CELLAR  135 

no  beggar  from  home.  When  she  comes  to  herself  she 
will  see  our  hardship  and  will  go  to  the  Charities  of 
her  own  accord." 

One  more  week,  then  the  relatives  unanimously  de- 
cided to  see  to  it  that  Sarah  was  roused.  Mira  was 
delegated  to  do  the  rousing. 

Sarah  had  forgiven,  but  she  had  never  forgotten 
Mira's  superior  attitude  on  their  pilgrimage  together  to 
the  Charities,  so  that  now  when  Mira  mentioned  going 
to  the  Charities  for  monetary  aid,  she  turned  upon  her 
with  a  storm  of  abuse.  Poor,  mistaken  Sarah !  She  saw 
in  Mira  a  conspirator  with  Fate. 

"She  all  but  threw  me  out  of  her  house,"  said  Mira 
to  each  of  the  relatives.  "When  I  told  her  it  was  no 
plan  to  sit  round  and  let  others — poor,  too,  even  if  they 
are  blood  ties — support  her,  she  nearly  ate  me  up  alive." 
To  the  one  staunch  relative  she  added  caustically:  "For 
that  she  is  enough  herself.  For  that  she  is  not  so  stun- 
ned. I  did  not  say  that  she  should  go  to  work.  I  know 
she  is  not  enough  herself  for  that ;  but  to  go  to  the  Char- 
ities— she  can  do  that!" 

The  relatives  decided  to  withdraw  their  support.  Only 
two  dollars  from  the  one  faithful  relative  came  to  Sarah 
the  next  week. 

XXVII 

IT  was  a  bitter  cold  Saturday  morning.  Sarah  sat 
with  her  children  huddled  about  a  tiny  coal  stove,  in 
which  a  few  pieces  of  wood  were  burning  low.  In  the 
home  there  was  not  a  scrap  of  food. 

"Uh,  mama,  I'm  hungry,"  wailed  each  of  the  three 
younger  children. 


136  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Sarah's  glassy  eyes  filled  with  alarm.  But  when  the 
cry  was  repeated,  her  alarm  put  up  the  shield  of  anger, 
and  she  reprimanded  them,  at  first  gently,  then  more 
harshly. 

"I  will  go  get  something  to  eat  right  away.  Mean- 
time be  still.  It  is  not  so  terrible  that  you  should  be 
without  food  once."  Sarah  knew  not  what  she  was 
saying. 

A  long  glassy  stare,  then  a  look  of  dawning  resolution. 
It  was  Saturday ;  Miss  Liebman  would  be  at  home.  She 
would  go  and  ask  to  do  the  girls'  cleaning  that  day  in- 
stead of  Sunday  and  explain  her  absence  of  the  past 
weeks.  If  the  pain  in  her  side  would  only  let  up!  To 
test  herself  she  rose  from  her  chair  and  crossed  the 
room.  At  the  other  end  she  sank  into  a  chair,  so  sharp 
and  intense  was  the  pain. 

"Ma — ma,  I'm  hungry."  This  time  it  was  Jacob,  who 
until  then  had  not  complained.  A  tear  quaked  on  each 
lid,  the  corners  of  his  mouth  were  drawn,  and  he 
scratched  his  head  helplessly. 

The  girls  glanced  furtively  from  Jacob  to  their  mother. 
Sarah  with  the  look  of  a  terror-stricken  animal  rose 
swiftly,  regardless  of  the  pain  in  her  side. 

"Go,"  she  cried  to  Minnie,  "go  in  the  back  way  of  the 
old  groceryman  on  Henry  Street  and  ask  him  to  give 
you  bread  and  a  herring.  Tell  him  your  papa  died  and 
your  mama  has  no  money."  Though  the  store  was  closed 
on  Saturday,  the  grocer  occasionally  transacted  business 
through  the  back  entrance. 

Minnie  rose  simultaneously  with  the  command,  so  com- 
pelling was  Sarah's  demeanor. 

"You  go  along,"  Sarah  said  to  Jacob,  who  never  be- 


THE  CELLAR  137 

fore  obeyed  a  command  so  instantly.    There  was  some- 
thing startling  in  Sarah's  look. 

The  other  children  huddled  closer  to  the  stove.  Sarah 
sat  with  drooping  shoulders,  irresolutely  twining  and  un- 
twining her  fingers,  a  picture  of  abject  despair.  "Woe 
is  me,  what  has  been  the  matter  with  me  that  I  let 
it  come  to  this  ?  I  could  have  worked.  Woe  is  me !"  she 
thought  over  and  over  again. 

The  relatives  had  succeeded  in  rousing  Sarah ! 
******* 

Chayim  Schlopoborsky  opened  the  Mendels'  door  with- 
out the  ceremony  of  knocking. 

"Mrs.  Mendel,  you  are  really  a  respectable  woman  and 
you  have  your  great  troubles,  but  I  am  a  poor  man  too. 
I  must  have  my  five  dollars'  rent.  I  have  been  waiting 
already  over  a  week." 

Chayim  Schlopoborsky  did,  indeed,  have  his  own  troub- 
les. Six  months  previously  he  had  gone  through  the 
horrors  of  a  pogrom,  in  which  he  had  lost  one  child  and 
both  his  parents.  The  height  of  his  ambition  was  to 
bring  over  his  family  of  wife  and  six  children;  in  the 
little  Russian  town  they  waited  eagerly  for  his  summons 
to  the  Land  of  Freedom. 

While  the  miserable  Mendels  hugged  their  feeble  little 
stove  in  the  back  room,  Chayim  Schlopoborsky  sat  on 
his  stool  in  the  front  shop  cogitating: 

"Mir  is  als  bashert!  (everything  must  happen  to  me!) 
Nu,  if  she  has  no  money  to  pay  the  rent,  let  her  go 
to  the  Charities.  I  am  not  rich  enough  to  keep  her  for 
nothing.  I  have  my  own  troubles." 

To  do  Chayim  Schlopoborsky  justice,  he  was  ignorant 
of  the  exact  state  of  affairs  in  the  Mendel  home.  What 


i38  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

he  did  know  exactly  was  that  he  was  five  dollars  short 
of  the  passage  money  for  his  wife  and  babies. 

Sarah  looked  at  the  shoemaker  dum founded.  She 
was  about  to  explain  that  in  a  few  days  she  would  get 
money  for  work  and  would  pay  him,  but  Chayim  mis- 
took the  expression  on  her  face  for  an  appeal. 

"I  am  poor  too,"  he  said,  "if  you  have  no  money,  go 
to  the  Charities.  Rich  people  give  money  there.  I  can- 
not afford  to  be  a  philanthropist." 

Sarah,  the  look  of  a  hunted  beast  leaping  into  her 
eyes,  jumped  from  her  chair.  In  a  burst  of  impotent 
rage  she  grabbed  up  one  of  the  children's  school  books 
and  hurled  it  at  the  shoemaker.  It  struck  him  on  the 
head.  She  followed  it  with  another  book,  then  with  a 
knife  and  then  with  a  fork.  The  man  shrieked.  People 
passing  on  the  street,  stopped  to  listen.  The  Swedish 
janitor  ran  in  just  in  time  to  tear  another  implement 
from  the  violent  Sarah's  hand. 

"A  regular  devil  she  is!"  Chayim  Schlopoborsky 
shouted,  making  for  the  door  and  slamming  it  shut  be- 
hind him. 

XXVIII 

The  sky  hung  gray  over  the  metropolis;  heavy 
clouds  drifted  cumbersomely  in  layers  across  the  melan- 
choly expanse.  It  began  to  drizzle. 

A  husky  expressman,  humming  a  lively  air  from  a 
Yiddish  operetta,  carried  the  Mendel  belongings  from 
their  basement  shelter  to  the  sidewalk.  The  last  piece 
deposited,  he  removed  a  plate  from  the  inside  of  the 
coal  stove,  in  which  he  had  placed  all  the  dishes,  set  it 
on  top  of  the  stove,  and  laid  a  ten-cent  piece  on  its 


THE  CELLAR  139 

yellowish,  cracked  surface.  Then  he  looked  down  into 
the  basement.  None  of  the  Mendels  were  to  be  seen. 
Wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  large,  red  face,  he 
slapped  on  his  cap,  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets, 
and  sauntered  off,  keeping  step  to  the  tune  of  the  Yid- 
dish operetta. 

The  rain  came  down  on  the  Mendel  belongings. 

After  a  time  Sarah,  as  if  stealthily,  emerged  from  the 
basement.  She  was  dry-eyed,  with  the  haunted  expres- 
sion that  had  settled  upon  her  face.  The  three  girls,  cry- 
ing, followed. 

The  street  was  deserted.  The  children  looked  up  at 
Sarah.  Her  eyelids  fluttered.  She  glanced  at  the  fur- 
niture and  wrung  her  hands,  then  turned  away. 

"Go,  children,"  she  said  in  a  hard  voice,  "stand  inside 
the  vestibule  so  you  do  not  get  drenched."  The  children 
made  no  move.  "Go,  children,  wait  there  until  I  come 
back.  I  am  going  away." 

"Where  you  gone,  mama  ?"  Minnie  asked  in  terror. 

Sarah  in  her  trials  had  often  threatened  to  throw  her- 
self into  the  river. 

"I  am  going  to  the  Charity  place  to  see  the  Lady." 

"Don*  go,  don'  go,  mama!"  the  child  cried,  certain 
her  mother  intended  to  do  something  desperate. 

"Go  up  on  the  stoop,  you  hear?"  Sarah  raised  her 
voice. 

"Lemme  go  along  wid  you,"  Minnie  pleaded,  rubbing 
her  tears  away  with  the  back  of  her  little  hand. 

Sarah  threw  her  a  commanding  look.  Minnie  led  the 
children  up  the  stoop  into  the  vestibule.  Sarah  drew 
her  shawl  close  about  her  rigid  body  and  walked  down 
the  street. 

On  the  Saturday  of  the  attack  on  Chayim  Schlopobor- 


I4o  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

sky,  immediately  after  Minnie  and  Jacob  had  returned 
from  the  grocer,  Sarah  in  spite  of  her  pain  had  set  out 
to  call  on  Miss  Liebman.  Repeated  ringing  of  the  door- 
bell had  brought  no  response.  From  the  janitor  she 
learned  that  the  girls  had  moved  away,  where  he  did 
not  know.  So  she  decided  to  go  to  the  Charities  to  see 
her.  But  the  next  few  days  the  pain  in  her  side  was 
so  intense  that  she  went  instead  to  Mrs.  Finkelstein,  who 
lived  nearer,  only  to  hear  from  the  maid  that  the  lady 
was  taking  a  six  weeks'  rest  at  a  winter  resort. 

What  Sarah  in  her  desperation  might  have  attempted 
had  not  the  sympathetic  relative  called  that  same  eve- 
ning and  left  her  five  dollars,  is  hard  to  say.  She  im- 
mediately offered  the  shoemaker  three  dollars.  He  re- 
fused to  accept  it.  He  had  vowed  "that  regular  devil" 
should  be  thrown  out.  As  the  janitor  more  than 
agreed  with  him  that  Sarah  was  not  one  devil  but  one 
and  a  half  devils,  and  the  landlord  was  an  open-minded 
man,  Sarah  was  served  with  a  dispossess  notice  the  sig- 
nificance of  which  she  failed  to  realize  and  so  was  wholly 
unprepared  for  the  eviction  that  followed  close  after. 

When  she  reached  the  Charities  building  it  was  nearly 
five  o'clock.  Somehow  she  could  not  muster  the  cour- 
age to  go  in ;  she  waited  on  the  street  for  Miss  Liebman. 
After  half  an  hour  of  strained  expectancy,  with  frequent 
eager  glances  at  the  door  each  time  it  opened,  she  begged 
a  boy  to  go  in  and  ask  Miss  Liebman  to  come  out.  The 
boy  brought  back  word  that  Miss  Liebman  no  longer 
worked  there  and  that  there  was  no  one  then  in  the  office 
who  knew  her  whereabouts. 

It  is  in  such  moments  as  these  that  we  throw  up  our 
hands  and  run  either  to  or  from  God.  Sarah  looked  up 
to  the  heavens  and  denied  God. 


THE  CELLAR  141 

She  stood  stark.  Then  she  faced  about  and  walked 
homeward,  slowly,  with  bowed  head. 

On  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  her  whilom  home  she 
found  Jacob  standing  by  the  furniture  looking  mystified. 
As  he  had  gone  straight  from  school  to  hawking  news- 
papers, the  eviction  was  a  surprise  to  him. 

"What's  a  madder,  mama?"  he  asked,  but  received  no 
reply,  as  Sarah  who  had  glanced  into  the  vestibule, 
missed  the  children.  They  were  not  where  she  had  left 
them.  At  that  moment  the  vestibule  door  flung  open 
and  Minnie  came  running  out. 

"Uh,  ma,"  she  cried  happily,  "Mrs.  Block  upstairs 
made  us  come  up  by  her  house." 

Though  Sarah  swiftly  gathered  that  a  neighbor  had 
offered  hospitality,  she  stared  idiotically. 

"Mama,  she  said  I  should  make  you  come  up, 
too." 

"Go  upstairs,"  said  Sarah,  addressing  both  Jacob  and 
Minnie. 

"You  come  too,"  pleaded  Minnie. 

"Go — go  alone "  Sarah  pushed  Minnie  gently 

backward.  A  great  lump  was  in  her  throat.  She  felt  her 
self-control  slipping  away. 

"You  come,  too." 

"Go!"  Sarah  shouted,  and  turned  her  eyes  to  the  fur- 
niture. 

A  passing  man  noticed  the  group  and  the  furniture; 
he  stopped,  mumbled  something,  and  deposited  a  coin  on 
the  collection  plate. 

"Do  you  hear  me?  Go,  you  bloodsuckers!"  yelled 
Sarah,  bereft  of  her  reason. 

The  two  children  turned  upon  their  heels. 

Sarah  clutched  at  her  heart  with  her  cold,  moist  hand. 


142  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

She  looked  up  at  the  heavens,  then  down  at  the  base- 
ment, and  she  vowed  vengeance  upon — CHAYIM 
SCHLOPOBORSKY. 

XXIX 

The  children  had  waited  patiently  in  the  vestibule, 
watching  the  drizzle  turn  into  a  downpour.  Two  people 
passed  and  left  coins  in  the  collection  plate ;  another 
walked  by  rapidly,  apparently  too  bent  upon  his  own  af- 
fairs to  answer  the  call  of  another's  need. 

Presently  the  vestibule  door  opened.  An  elderly 
woman  emerging  brushed  past  the  children  and  de- 
scended the  stoop. 

"Oigh  wei !"  Mrs.  Block  cried  from  the  bottom  step ; 
looking  back  at  the  children:  "Is  this  your  furniture?" 

"Yeh,"  Minnie  stuck  her  thumb  in  her  mouth. 

Mrs.  Block  was  all  excited  pity.  "Where  is  your 
mama?  Woe  is  me!"  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands 
and  running  back  up  the  steps. 

"She  wen'  away,"  Minnie  said.  Ida  and  Bubbele  be- 
gan to  cry.  They  were  cold  and  sleepy. 

"Mein  Gott!  Mein  Gott!  Do  not  stand  here."  The 
woman  pushed  them  into  the  hall.  "Come  upstairs  with 
me." 

Taken  so  suddenly,  the  children  did  not  resist,  though 
Minnie  had  her  qualms  about  Sarah  and  Jacob. 

"Mother  mine,  mother  mine!"  the  woman  muttered 
when  she  had  got  the  children  in  her  home  and  bustled 
about,  drying  them,  brushing  their  hair,  kissing  and  pet- 
ting them. 

It  was  while  they  were  being  regaled  with  bread  and 
cocoa  that  Minnie  ventured  to  say: 


THE  CELLAR  143 

"My  mama  might  be  downstairs  and  my  brother 
maybe  earned  too.  I  wanna  go  down  and  see." 

"Yes,  bring  them  both  up,"  Mrs.  Block  repeated  three 
times. 

When  Minnie  returned  bringing  Jacob  but  not  Sarah 
and  told  their  hostess  that  her  mother  refused  to  come, 
Mrs.  Block  picked  up  her  shawl  and  said  she  would  go 
down  herself. 

"Uh,  I'm  so  glad!  She'll  come  if  you  go,"  cried 
Minnie. 

When  the  door  closed  upon  the  hostess,  Jacob  growled : 

"Chatterbox !  Makes  me  sick !  Always  she  got  to  go 
and  say !" 

Jacob's  harshness  at  this  particular  time  was 
unbearable. 

"Shut  up!"  cried  Minnie.  "You  don't  care,  yeh,  if 
mama  stays  out  the  whole  night  in  the  rain  or  not." 
Though  Minnie  had  explained  to  him  on  the  stairs  that 
they  had  been  "knocked  out  cause  mama  didn't  pay  the 
rent,"  it  had  not  occurred  to  Jacob  that  the  horrid  busi- 
ness would  last  through  the  night.  He  was  struck  to  the 
heart.  To  evade  Minnie,  he  turned  to  spin  a  top  for 
Bubbele,  a  toy  Mrs.  Block  had  taken  away  from  a  boy 
in  the  street  to  punish  him  for  having  struck  her  foot 
with  it. 

Sarah  was  in  the  vestibule  weeping  when  Mrs.  Block 
appeared. 

"By  standing  here  and  crying  you  are  not  helping  your 
children.  Do  not  forget  you  are  a  mother  of  chil- 
dren." 

A  man  stopped  and  deposited  a  penny  in  the 
plate. 

Sarah's  body  quivered  from  head  to  foot  as  from  a 


144  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

chill.    She  followed  Mrs.  Block  into  the  hall  and  up  the 
dark  stairs. 

XXX 

Mrs.  Block  did  everything  to  cheer  Sarah  and  put 
her  at  her  ease.  She  seated  her  on  the  most  comfortable 
chair,  removed  her  shawl,  placed  Bubbele  on  her  lap, 
talked,  laughed,  bustled.  "And  now,"  she  said  finally  to 
the  children,  "say  what  you  want  for  supper — salmon, 
cheese  or  herring  or  sardines?"  For  all  her  coaxing, 
they  remained  non-committal.  She  went  down  and 
brought  back  salmon  and  cheese  and  herring  and  sar- 
dines, as  well  as  horse-radish  and  sponge  cake  for  her 
husband. 

Mr.  Block  was  a  gentle,  kind-looking  man,  whose  slow 
manner  distantly  recalled  Elias.  He  greeted  his  unex- 
pected guests  with  friendliness,  immediately  suspecting 
their  relation  to  the  furniture  on  the  street. 

Supper,  served  on  a  regular  even  if  coarse  set  of 
dishes,  was  a  silent  meal.  The  hosts  were  occupied  with 
conjectures  and  plans  for  their  guests,  while  Sarah,  in 
her  misery,  battled  against  rising  tears.  When  the  chil- 
dren ventured  to  whisper,  she  hushed  them  up. 

After  supper,  Mr.  Block  played  with  Bubbele  on  his 
knee,  and  the  other  children  gathered  round  him,  laugh- 
ing at  the  way  he  danced  the  child  up  and  down.  For 
a  while  it  seemed  as  if  there  were  peace  in  the  hearts  of 
all. 

"How  would  it  have  hurt  us  to  have  had  a  dozen 
such?"  Mr.  Block  asked  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Block,  who  was  childless,  smiled  as  she  met 
Sarah's  eyes. 


THE  CELLAR  145 

"Their  father  lives?"  Mr.  Block  asked  Sarah. 

Ere  the  evening  was  over  the  Blocks  learned  a  goodly 
portion  of  the  Mendel  history.  But  Sarah  kept  secret 
the  story  of  the  disciplining  relatives  and  Chayim 
Schlopoborsky's  iteration  of  their  advice. 

"When  a  woman  finds  herself  in  your  position  in  this 
country,"  said  Mr.  Block  weightily,  "there  is  no  reason, 
nevertheless,  why  she  should  go  under.  There  are  char- 
ity places.  If  you  do  not  want  to  apply  yourself,  some- 
one else  can  do  it  for  you.  It  is  not  so  terrible  even 
if  it  is  bad ;  the  years  will  fly,  the  children  will  grow  up, 
they  will  go  to  work.  It  is  not  so  terrible."  His  expres- 
sion belied  his  words.  Sarah  gulped,  dropped  her  eyes 
and  said  nothing. 

Mrs.  Block,  whose  sympathetic  heart  was  torn  by 
Sarah's  evident  wretchedness,  proposed  they  get  ready 
for  bed.  Bubbele  yawned  and  rubbed  her  sleepy  eyes. 
The  rain  pelted  dismally  against  the  window. 

"Itzick,"  Mrs.  Block  said,  "this  rain  is  enough  to 
drown  the  furniture.  What  do  you  say  to  going  down 
and  putting  a  sheet  over  it?" 

Mr.  Block  took  the  torn  sheet  and  went  down.  Re- 
turning he  energetically  set  to  work  to  maneuver  sleep- 
ing space  for  their  guests. 

Soon  everyone  was  in  bed  and  the  home  dark.  The 
rain  came  down  wifF  still  greater  force.  Hailstones  rat- 
tled against  the  panes,  and  it  began  most  unseasonably 
to  thunder  and  lighten. 

"Nebich  1"  Mr.  Block  whispered  to  his  wife,  who  wiped 
her  eyes  and  sighed. 

"To-morrow,  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,"  she  said, 
"I  will  help  her  look  for  one  or  two  rooms,  and  on  your 
way  to  work  you  better  leave  a  letter  at  the  Charities 


i46          SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

asking  them  to  come.  Herself  she  will  not  go.  I  could 
see  it  in  her  eyes.  We  will  ourselves  lay  out  the  few 
dollars  for  the  moving  and  the  rent  deposit  and  for  a 
little  for  them  to  eat." 

"Yes,  I  will  do  like  I  did  for  the  man  in  my  shop — 
leave  a  letter ;  they  attend  to  it  just  as  well." 

At  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning,  Mr.  Block  left  his  bed 
and  fastened  dark  shawls  over  the  lower  halves  of  the 
windows.  Passing  his  little  guests  he  whispered  to  them 
to  "sleep"  and  playfully  pinched  Minnie's  nose  telling  her 
that  her  gray  eyes  shone  like  diamonds  in  the  dark.  The 

children,  to  Sarah's  annoyance  laughed. 

******* 

Before  the  others  awoke  the  next  morning,  Mr.  Block, 
using  the  wooden  seat  of  a  chair  as  a  desk,  indited  a 
letter  in  the  Yiddish  to  the  Peoples  Charities.  He 
wrote  dramatically  of  the  condition  of  the  widow  Sarah 
and  her  four  children,  penniless,  with  the  sidewalks  of 
New  York  as  their  only  home.  "Out  of  pity  and  as  a 
service  to  God,"  he  concluded,  "my  wife  and  I  took  them 
in  for  the  night." 

On  his  way  to  work  he  delivered  the  note. 

While  Mrs.  Block  was  putting  the  bedroom  in  order, 
Sarah  snatched  the  opportunity  to  admonish  the  children. 

"Be  careful  of  everything.  Don't  touch  anything. 
Don't  break  anything.  Remember  this  is  the  home  of 
strangers.  .  .  .  Minnie,  and  you,  too,  Jacob,  don't  come 
back  for  dinner  at  twelve  o'clock;  it  will  be  too  much 
trouble  for  Mrs.  Block."  Minnie  and  Jacob  looked 
gloomy  at  the  prospect  of  a  fast.  "Nu,  don't  carry  on," 
Sarah  warned  them.  "It  won't  hurt  you  to  do  without 
dinner."  Sarah  looked  so  pale  and  her  upper  lip 
twitched  so  that  the  children  suffered  at  the  sight  of  her. 


THE  CELLAR  14; 

Minnie  moved  intending  to  caress  her  mother.  Sarah 
held  her  off.  "You  go  to  the  butcher's  children  right 
after  school ;  the  five  cents  will  come  in  handy."  To 
Jacob:  "You  come  home;  don't  waste  a  minute  after 
school ;  if  I  find  rooms,  you  will  have  to  help  me  carry  the 
furniture."  At  last  they  had  permission  to  leave  for 
school. 

"Do  you  think  we  should  take  the  children  along  when 
we  look  for  rooms?"  Mrs.  Block,  emerging  from  the 
bedroom,  asked  Sarah. 

Sarah  shrugged  her  shoulders.  She  looked  so  tired 
and  worn  that  Mrs.  Block  thought  she  had  better  not  be 
encumbered  with  the  babies.  "Let  them  stay  at  home 
quietly  and  play  and  we  will  make  greater  speed." 

Sarah  put  the  children  down  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  again  admonishing  them  not  to  touch  a  single 
thing. 

"I  have  no  diamonds  and  pearls  in  my  house,"  said 
Mrs.  Block.  "Let  them  play  with  everything  if  it  amuses 
them." 

In  the  dark  hall  Sarah  chose  the  darkest  spot  to  ask 
Mrs.  Block: 

"Do  you  think  they  will  accept  a  one-dollar  deposit  if 
we  find  a  room  or  two?" 

Poor  Sarah!  One  dollar  was  all  she  had,  and  she 
feared  to  go  on  a  useless  expedition. 

Mrs.  Block,  certain  of  reimbursement  by  the  Charities, 
said: 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Mendel,  don't  be  a  child.  Whether 
five  dollars  is  with  me  or  you,  what  does  it  matter? 
I  will  lay  it  out  for  you,  and  when  God  will  grant  you 
better  times,  you  will  give  it  back  to  me."  In  her  heart 
she  thought:  "God,  what  a  pig  a  person  is  compelled 


148  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

to  be!  If  I  were  not  sure  that  the  Charities  would 
give  it  back  to  me,  I  simply  could  not  afford  to  offer  it 
to  her." 

Sarah,  blinded  by  tears,  stumbled  down  the  dark  stairs. 
On  the  street  she  turned  livid  at  the  sight  of  the  furni- 
ture. Mrs.  Block  hurried  her  away. 

For  three  hours  the  women  hunted.  They  scrambled 
up  rickety  stairs  and  down  into  basements.  Not  a  single 
place  was  to  be  had  for  five  dollars  a  month. 

Nearly  noon  time,  disheartened  and  tired,  they  faced 
each  other  helplessly  on  the  street.  The  rings  under 
Sarah's  eyes  were  black ;  her  face  was  drawn  and  sal- 
low. She  held  her  hand  to  her  right  side.  Mrs.  Block 
decided  to  stop  house-hunting. 

"If  worse  comes  to  worse,"  she  said  as  they  entered 
her  rooms,  "you  and  the  children  can  stay  with  us  an- 
other night." 

Mrs.  Block  compelled  Sarah  to  lie  down  on  the  lounge. 
Wearily  Sarah  turned  her  head  toward  the  wall  and 
closed  her  eyes. 

"Ssh !"  Mrs.  Block  whispered  to  the  children  still  play- 
ing on  the  floor. 

Sarah  sat  up. 

"Be  quiet!"  she  commanded  harshly,  "don't  disturb 
Mrs.  Block." 

"No,  no,"  Mrs.  Block  cried,  "I  was  thinking  only  of 
you.  They  do  not  disturb  me  a  bit."  She  was  alarmed 
by  Sarah's  wild  appearance.  "Go  to  sleep,  see,  do  me  a 
favor,"  she  begged,  and  forced  her  guest  down  on  the 
lounge.  She  feared  for  Sarah's  reason. 

Sarah  lay  down  again.  The  children  were  still  as 
mice. 

Elias  was  reading  aloud  from  the  newspaper — Jacob 


THE  CELLAR  149 

was  studying  his  lessons,  his  geography  on  his  lap  and  ink 
on  the  floor.  The  teakettle  sang  on  the  stove — Minnie 
was  sweeping  the  fine,  large  room-of-all-affairs  of  Henry 
Street.  Mrs.  Ratkin  was  saying  to  her  how  nice  and 
companionable  her  Abie  and  Minnie  were 

Sarah  was  startled  from  her  dreams  by  the  creaking 
of  the  floor  as  Mrs.  Block  moved  across  the  room.  She 
sat  bolt-upright,  her  hair  disheveled,  her  eyes  staring. 
She  could  not  remember  after  her  fifteen  minutes'  doze, 
where  she  was,  then  she  cried  in  extreme  distress:  "It 
must  be  terribly  late.  I  must  go  at  once  to  look  for 
rooms." 

"Nu,  nu,  don't  be  excited,"  the  good  Mrs.  Block  beg- 
ged. "You  will  eat  dinner  first  and  the  children  will 
come  right  away  for  dinner  from  school.  After  that 
there  will  be  time  enough  to  look  for  rooms." 

Sarah  protested,  rising  and  arranging  her  hair.  "The 
children  are  not  coming  from  school  anyway,"  she  said, 
"I  told  them  not  to.  Bubbele  and  Ida  will  have  enough 
with  a  piece  of  bread.  I  do  not  want  anything." 

Mrs.  Block  changed  color. 

"Fui !  fui !"  she  cried,  "to  let  your  own  children  rather 
do  without  food  than  trouble  a  strange  woman  a  little* 
bit !  With  a  real  mother's  heart  you  could  not  do  that !" 
Mrs.  Block  really  meant  to  shame  Sarah.  "A  mother 
should  rather  trouble  a  whole  world  than  sacrifice  the 
tip  of  her  child's  pinky " 

A  rap  at  the  door  interrupted  the  sermon.  Sarah's 
mind  was  in  a  whirl — dinner,  pinky,  sacrifice,  Elias,  the 
teakettle 

The  Charities  investigator  was  admitted.  When  the 
young  woman  made  known  her  mission  Sarah  seemed 
to  turn  into  marble;  she  stood  rigid,  ashen  white,  be- 


150  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

wildered.  Mrs.  Block  was  terrified  into  an  immediate 
admission  of  what  her  husband  had  done. 

"With  a  real  mother's  heart"  rang  in  Sarah's  brain, 
"a  woman  should  trouble  a  whole  world  rather  than 

sacrifice  the  tip  of  her  child's  pinky "  Something 

snapped  in  her  being:  her  hold  on  herself  gave  way. 
She  dropped  on  the  lounge  and  delivered  herself  up  to' 
the  mercy  of  the  investigator. 

Bubbele  and  Ida  came  to  lean  against  their  mother 
and  to  scrutinize  the  visitor.  And  the  investigator,  whose 
privilege  it  is  to  disregard  the  sacredness  of  privacy, 
probed  into  every  nook  and  cranny  of  Sarah's  existence. 
While  waiting  for  answers  she  now  and  then  took  notice 
of  the  children. 

"You're  a  pretty  little  girl  but  your  hands  are  very 
dirty,"  she  said  to  Bubbele. 

Bubbele  looked  hard  at  her  baby  fingers. 

"Water  is  very  cheap." 

Bubbele  and  Ida  looked  up  at  their  mother  as  if  to 
see  whether  she  felt  the  same  way  about  it. 

Bubbele's  hands  were  dirty ;  she  had  been  playing  sev- 
eral hours  on  the  floor.  Sarah,  who  wanted  to  say  so, 
merely  squirmed  on  the  lounge. 

"Have  you  any  relatives?" 

"Yes,  a  few  on  my  husband's  side." 

"Give  me  their  names  and  addresses." 

Sarah  gave  them. 

"En — en  Tante  Mira "  piped  Bubbele. 

Sarah  smiled  down  upon  the  baby  and  patted  her 
cheek  to  silence  her.  She  felt  self-conscious  and  timid' 
and  mortified. 

"Who  is  Tante  Mira?"  The  investigator  was  on  the 
alert. 


THE  CELLAR  151 

"She  is  no  relative ;  only  a  compatriot." 

She  would  make  sure  of  that  herself.  She  asked  for 
Mira's  address.  Sarah  gave  it  with  black  misgivings  in 
her  heart.  She  could  have  shaken  Bubbele. 

"How  comes  it  your  relatives  permitted  you  to  be 
evicted  ?" 

The  investigator  laid  a  rude  hand  upon  a  bruised  heart. 

Sarah's  lips  quivered,  her  eyes  reddened  and  smarted. 
What  explanation  could  she  make?  How,  indeed,  was  it 
that  the  relatives  had  permitted  the  calamity  ?  She  could 
not  say. 

The  investigator  shrewdly  decided  that  here  was  a 
matter  requiring  a  detective's  skill  and  she  would  have  to 
exercise  her  ingenuity  to  ferret  out  what  was  at  the 
bottom  of  Sarah's  silence  on  this  point. 

"I  think,"  she  said  finishing  her  writing,  "you  had 
better  come  with  me  now,  and  we  will  find  rooms." 

Sarah  gave  Mrs.  Block  a  look  which  said :  "We  hunted, 
did  we  not  ?  My  side  hurts."  Mrs.  Block's  look  in  return 
said :  "It  is  lunch  time ;  we  ought  to  have  a  little  to  eat." 
But  neither  demurred. 

Sarah  rose,  put  on  her  shawl  and  stood  ready  to  go. 
Ida  and  Bubbele  followed  her  to  the  door.  She  pushed 
them  aside  impatiently. 

They  found  two  rooms  on  the  fifth  floor  of  a  Rutgers 
Street  tenement,  at  seven  dollars  a  month.  The  investi- 
gator, eager  to  be  on  her  way,  handed  Sarah  five  dol- 
lars in  the  presence  of  the  janitress,  saying: 

"I  will  pay  the  janitress ;  this  is  for  moving  and  food. 
To-morrow  morning  at  nine  o'clock  you  must  come  to 
the  Charities." 

Exactly  what  Sarah  had  dreaded — that  the  Lady 
would  disgrace  her  before  the  janitress.  Her  heart 


152  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

pounded  at  her  ribs,  her  knees  threatened  to  give  way. 
As  she  made  her  way  back  to  Mrs.  Block's  home,  little 
children  looked  at  her  timidly,  as  if  she  were  crazy,  and 
shied  away  from  this  woman  with  the  queer  staring  eyes 

who  muttered  to  herself:  "Such  a  life !     Such  dark 

fortune !    Better  to  be  dead — to  be  dead !" 

XXXI 

Sarah  and  her  fatherless  progeny  went  down  on  the 
records  of  the  Peoples  Charities  as  Case  No.  31100.  The 
last  two  paragraphs  of  the  filing  card  read : 

"Visited  relatives  of  applicant.  Found  said  rela- 
tives not  in  want.  Said  they  had  helped  applicant 
immediately  after  death  of  husband,  but  applicant 
got  to  expect  help  and  would  not  help  herself. 
Asked  how  it  was  they  let  applicant  be  evicted.  Said 
they  did  not  know  of  eviction. 

"Would  recommend,  as  applicant  seems  well  and 
strong,  that  she  be  given  work  in  the  work-room  to 
prevent  pauperization." 

Miss  Kranz,  the  investigator,  laid  this  report  on  the 
desk  of  the  Head  of  the  Department  at  closing  hour. 
The  next  morning  the  Head  of  the  Department,  who, 
out  of  devotion  to  her  work,  always  arrived  at  the  office 
half  an  hour  in  advance  of  the  other  employees,  read 
it  and  returned  it  with  an  O.  K.  as  to  the  recommenda- 
tion and  with  the  notation:  "How  about  asylum  for 
two  younger  children?"  The  case  thus  lay  on  Miss 
Kranz's  desk  pending  the  arrival  of  the  case  in  the  flesh. 

While  Sarah  was  receiving  this  absent  treatment,  she 


THE  CELLAR  153 

was  hurrying  and  scurrying  in  her  new  household.  She 
was  so  nervous  that  things  dropped  from  her  hands  and 
her  voice  rang  shrilly  as  she  told  the  older  children  leav- 
ing for  school  that  she  was  going  to  the  Charities  and 
would  not  be  at  home  lunch  time.  Her  ringers  trembled 
as  she  handed  Jacob  twenty-five  cents  for  the  usual  in- 
vestment in  newspapers. 

Holding  Ida  and  Bubbele,  whose  hands  were  as  clean 
as  could  be,  Sarah  wearily  plodded  her  way  to  the  Char- 
ities. As  she  approached  the  place,  she  was  conscious 
of  a  peculiar,  horrifying  sensation — a  sensation  she 
vaguely  felt  she  had  experienced  on  another  occasion. 
What  was  it?  She  paused  in  an  effort  to  recall.  Elias? 
What  had  Elias  to  do  with  it  ?  In  an  instant  her  memory 
became  vividly  alive.  "I  felt  when  I  left  there  as  if 
I  had  been  spilt  with  pamoonitza.  And  that  is  for  work. 
How  must  it  be  when  one  comes  for  money!"  So 
she  had  said  to  Elias  after  her  first  visit  to  the  Charities. 

She  shivered  convulsively.  How  was  it  going  to  be ! 

She  was  coming  for  money! 

"With  a  real  mother's  heart "  rang  in  her 

mind Grasping  the  children's  hands  more  firmly  she 

hastened  up  the  steps. 

A  boy  ushered  her  into  a  large  square  room  in  which 
were  rows  of  wooden  benches  were  there  already  sat 
others  in  her  same  plight.  She  slunk  to  a  rear  bench  and 
sat  down,  the  children  clinging  to  her  skirts.  It  was  early 
and  employees  straggled  in  one  by  one.  A  formidable 
quiet  held  the  place,  broken  by  an  occasional  cough,  the 
creaking  of  a  bench,  a  whisper.  Sarah's  nightmare  sense 
was  even  more  intensified.  "God  mine  am  I  really  I?" 
she  asked  herself. 

The  arrival  of  Miss  Kranz  dashed  the  reality  of  it  all 


154  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

in  her  face.  Her  heart  pounded,  she  perspired,  her  breath 
came  faster,  her  thoughts  more  clearly.  "I  have  come 
here  for  my  children's  sake.  I  will  take  alms  for  my  chil- 
dren's sake.  I  will  sacrifice  my  decency  for  my  children's 
sake — I  will  ask  them  to  give  me  scrubbing  and  washing 
by  ladies.  A  little  I  can  earn  that  way " 

Meanwhile  Miss  Kranz  was  running  her  fingers  deftly 
along  the  edges  of  a  stack  of  cards  to  find  case  No. 
31100.  Glancing  at  the  notation  on  it  she  beckoned  to 
the  case  in  the  flesh. 

"Will  you  let  us,"  she  said  when  she  had  Sarah  seated 
facing  her,  "put  these  two  younger  children  in  the  orphan 
asylum  ?" 

Orphan  asylum  meant  nothing  to  Sarah,  who  had  never 
heard  the  expression  before;  yet  her  heart  leapt  to  the 
fear  of  separation  from  her  children.  She  wiped  her 
sweaty  face  with  a  trembling  hand  and  asked  timidly : 
"What  is  it,  an  orphan  asylum?"  She  was  told.  It  was 
like  being  convinced  of  the  reality  of  a  ghost.  This  that 
she  was  listening  to  could  not  be — it  could  not  be. 

"You  may  have  a  few  days  to  think  it  over,"  sounded 
Miss  Kranz's  voice  as  from  another  world.  "And  now 
about  you,"  the  voice  went  on  in  a  tone  of  admonition, 
"you  will  have  to  do  some  work — here  in  the  work- 
room." 

"Yes?" 

Miss  Kranz  scented  surprise  in  Sarah's  tone. 

"Yes!"  she  replied  with  peppery  sharpness  and  a  sur- 
vey of  Sarah's  body  that  gauged  her  working  powers. 
"You  are  certainly  well  enough  to  work.  A  healthy 
woman  can't  sit  back  and  fold  her  hands." 

Here  Miss  Kranz  was  interrupted  by  another  investi- 
gator to  have  a  laugh  with  her  over  an  applicant  who 


THE  CELLAR  155 

insisted  that  the  United  States  owed  him  a  living — the 
United  States  was  rich  enough With  a  linger- 
ing smile  Miss  Kranz  turned  again  to  Case  No. 
31100. 

"Well,  make  up  your  mind  about  the  children  first,  and 
when  I  come  to  see  you  the  day  after  to-morrow,  be 
ready  to  give  me  your  decision.  I  would  advise  you 
to  let  them  go."  (Those  were  not  the  days  when  to 
keep  the  family  together  was  considered  "scientific" 
charity.)  She  paused  as  if  to  let  her  advice  sink  in. 
"Then  I  will  see  about  getting  work  for  you  here  in  the 
work-room.  Can  you  sew?" 

Sarah  abominated  sewing.  She  said  meekly:  "I  never 
sewed  much." 

Miss  Kranz  rose  hastily.  Sarah  out  of  timidity  in- 
stantly did  the  same.  Miss  Kranz  said  with  impatience. 

"That's  all  right,  that's  all  right.  You  can  learn  to 
sew.  You  have  to  do  some  work." 

Sarah  longed  to  say  that  she  preferred  day's  work, 
but  the  words  would  not  frame  themselves.  She  led  the 
children  out,  her  heart  crying :  "Woe — woe  is  me !"  The 
children  talked  to  her.  She  hushed  them  up.  Little 
Bubbele  could  not  keep  pace  with  her  mother's  hurried 
steps  and  tugged  on  Sarah's  skirt.  Sarah  paid  no  atten- 
tion until  the  child  threw  herself  down  on  the  pavement 
and  kicked  and  screamed. 

"My  darling !"  Sarah  raised  her  from  the  ground  and 
kissed  her  passionately.  "No,  no,. darling  mine,  mama 
will  walk  slower.  Woe — woe  is  me !" 

At  home  the  janitress  informed  Sarah  that  a  woman 
had  called.  "A  woman"  she  emphasized — "not  a  lady," 
to  distinguish  the  caller  from  the  Charities  investigator. 
Sarah  dropped  her  eyes  and  hurried  the  children  up  the 


156  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

stairs.  "Who  could  it  have  been!"  she  pondered.  In 
the  house  Sarah  threw  herself  on  the  lounge  while  the 
two  children  made  straight  for  chairs,  all  of  them  pant- 
ing from  the  steep  climb.  Sarah  lay  gazing  at  the  blank 
wall,  her  mind  a  dizzy  jumble  of  disconnected  thoughts 
of  the  Charities,  orphan  asylum,  the  woman  caller — who 
she  could  have  been;  and  she  agitated  herself  over  the 
potential  gossiping  propensities  of  the  new  janitress. 
"Woe  is  me,  all  the  tenants  will  know  we  live  on  charity 
if  she  is  a  gossip " 

The  children  were  so  still  that  Sarah  looked  up.  She 
encountered  a  pair  of  troubled  little  faces  with  eyes  re- 
garding her  fixedly.  Ida  tearfully  crying  "Ma !"  jumped 
up  and  ran  to  her  mother;  Bubbele  followed  and  threw 
her  baby  body  over  Sarah's  chest,  and  wailed,  moved  by  a 
child's  intuition  that  all  was  not  well  with  her  mama. 

"Don't  cry,  darling.  Mama  is  not  crying.  Did  you 
think  mama  was  crying?  No,  no,  darling."  And  as  if 
to  prove  that  she  was  as  cheerful  as  she  sounded,  Sarah 
rose  and  went  about  her  home  duties.  "Do  you  want 
apple  and  bread  for  lunch,  darling?"  she  asked  Bubbele. 

"Yah!"  the  child  piped  as  babylike  as  baby  can  be. 
Sarah  smiled,  and  Ida  implanted  a  kiss  on  Bubbele's 
mouth. 

Sarah  looked  into  the  bread  box.  There  was  bread 
enough — but  there  were  no  apples  in  the  house !  Sighing, 
she  resigned  herself  to  the  arduous  climb  again.  She 
brought  bread  as  well  as  apples,  for  her  thoughts  had 
been:  "Scraps  are  not  enough  for  growing  children 
like  Minnie  and  Jacob.  When  I  was  a  growing  girl  my 
mother  used  to  make  me  eat  quantities  of  sour  cream 
and  cheese  and  sweet  butter  and  black  bread.  My  chil- 
dren are  to  be  pitied — my  four  fatherless  babies !" 


THE  CELLAR  157 

Jacob  and  Minnie  bouncing  in  from  school  were  de- 
lighted to  find  the  family  at  home,  and  doubly  so  when 
they  discovered  the  feast  of  bread  and  apples.  While  her 
little  family  were  munching  and  chatting,  Sarah  thought : 

"They  are  children  after  all,  even  Minnie  and  Jacob. 
How  they  talk  and  laugh  already!  As  if  everything  is 
as  before — as  if  their  father  were  not  dead — as  if  they 
had  not  been  on  the  street  two  days  ago!"  She  sighed" 
and  shrugged  her  shoulders  in  uncomprehending  toler- 
ance of  the  ways  of  the  young. 

Minnie  and  Jacob  were  soon  off  to  school  again.  Bub- 
bele  and  Ida  lay  down  to  sleep  off  the  effects  of  the 
morning's  expedition.  Sarah  sat  by  the  window  and 
thought:  "To  send  the  children  to  an  orphan  asylum 

must  mean  to  give  them  away  and  sign  a  paper " 

(Signing  a  paper  to  our  tenement  friends  is  to  commit 
one's  self  beyond  recall.)  "It  is  like  handing  them  over 
as  a  gift My  children  I  should  give  away  to  stran- 
gers !"  A  sense  of  outrage  flamed  up  in  her  soul.  "I  will 
not  give  them  away  and  sign  a  paper  if  they  will  throw 
us  ten  times  out  of  rooms  and  I  will  sooner  work  my 

fingers  to  the  bone "  She  debated  with  herself  as  if 

she  were  her  own  opponent.  .  .  .  Then  her  thoughts 
drifted  to  the  other  aspect  of  the  situation.  "But  if  the 
children  will  get  enough  to  eat  there!  It  will  be  better 
for  them — they  are  children  and  will  soon  get  used  to 
being  without  me.  That  I  will  long  for  them  should  not 
matter " 

A  light  tap  on  the  door  roused  her. 

Never  in  her  life  was  Sarah  so  glad  to  see  anyone  as 

she  was  now  to  see  her  friend  and  enemy,  Mira  Cohen. 
******* 

In  her  tour  of  investigation  of  the  Mendel  Case,  Miss 


158  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Kranz  had  included  Mira  Cohen,  who,  unaware  of  the 
eviction,  had  given  information  based  on  the  old  status 
of  Sarah's  offensiveness  and  ingratitude.  When  she 
learned  of  the  eviction,  however,  she  could,  as  she  told 
her  husband  in  the  evening,  have  bitten  her  tongue  off, 
so  provoked  was  she  with  herself  for  having  diminished 
Sarah's  chances  of  obtaining  assistance. 

"How  should  I  have  known?"  she  argued  to  appease 
her  conscience  as  she  tossed  on  her  bed  in  the  small  hours 
of  the  night.  "She  insulted  me  only  because  she  was  so 
desperate.  I  ought  to  go  to  see  her.  Bygones  ought  to 
be  bygones.  They  were  thrown  out  on  the  street!  And 
it  was  even  a  rainy  day.  My  God  in  heaven !  I  will  go 
to  see  her  the  first  thing  in  the  morning." 

However,  the  dawn  found  Mira's  conscience  less  alert, 
and  it  was  not  until  ten  o'clock  that  her  resolution  to 
visit  Sarah  and  let  bygones  be  bygones  took  the  form 
of  action.  Not  finding  Sarah  in,  she  had  applied  to  the 
janitress  to  make  sure  the  Charities  investigator  had 
given  her  the  right  address  and  returned  home  resolved 
to  call  again  in  the  afternoon. 

In  the  melancholy  twilight  of  the  room,  Mira  listened 
in  true  sympathy  as  Sarah  laid  bare  her  bitter  heart. 

******* 

"Minnie,  go  down  and  buy  a  postal  card  and  write  on 
it  what  I  tell  you,"  said  Sarah  in  the  evening. 

Though  tired  from  a  long  day  of  school  and  nurse- 
work,  Minnie  made  the  wearisome  journey. 

"What  sh'll  I  say,  ma?"  she  asked  as,  breathless,  she 
sat  down  to  write. 

Sarah  laid  a  card  before  the  child.  "Copy  the  address 
from  here,"  she  said. 

Minnie,  copying,  wrote : 


THE  CELLAR  159 

"Peoples  Charities,  Mustend  Street,  Case  No.  31100, 
Sarah  Mendel." 

"What  sh'll  I  tell  her?" 

"Tell  her,"  said  Sarah,  looking  away  nervously,  "that 
she  should  please  excuse  me  from  signing  a  paper  for 
my  fatherless  children  to  give  them  to  the  Gerry  Society." 

Sarah  spoke  in  Yiddish ;  by  labored  effort  Minnie  pro- 
duced a  faithful  translation  in  English.  But  what  a 
struggle  when  she  came  to  "Gerry!"  It  must  be  a  mis- 
take. She  had  not  been  taught  the  word  at  school.  She 
could  not  believe  the  English  language  guilty  of  including 
such  a  meaningless  term.  Finally  she  wrote  "Gehrer." 
That  done,  she  looked  up  at  her  mother  and  asked: 

"Ma,  who  do  they  wanna  take  away — them?"  she 
pointed  to  Bubbele  and  Ida. 

"Yah,  ma,  usn?"  Bubbele  asked. 

"No,  darling,"  said  Sarah,  gathering  the  baby  in  her 
arms,  "it  is  just  for  fun." 

The  children  were  satisfied. 

"What's  the  Gehrer  Society?"  asked  Minnie. 

Sarah  looked  quickly  away.  Her  manner  grew  for- 
bidding. 

What  was  a  Gehrer  Society,  indeed?  A  place  where 
Jewish  orphans  were  converted  to  Christianity,  where  a 
cross  was  branded  on  the  child's  chest,  arm,  or  back ; 
where  a  child  was  whipped  mercilessly  on  the  slightest 
provocation,  especially  the  Jewish  child.  A  place  that 
did  not  relinquish  the  child,  once  the  paper  was  signed, 
before  it  attained  maturity,  if  ever  the  child  did  attain 
maturity.  What!  Send  her  Ida  and  Bubbele  to  such  a 
place!  Visions  of  the  "country"  came  to  Sarah,  of 
Mira's  wisdom  in  identifying  it  with  a  slaughterhouse. 
She  shuddered.  "Not,  if  to  keep  them,  I  must  work  my 


160  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

fingers  to  the  bone."  Besides,  Mira  had  promised  (with 
the  simple  primitive  virtue  of  her  class,  real  self-sacri- 
fice) that  were  Sarah  to  get  work  for  every  day,  she 
would,  and  gladly,  clean  Sarah's  home  daily,  cook,  take 
care  of  the  children — and,  in  short,  do  for  Sarah  as  she 
would  be  done  by. 

XXXII 

The  morning  on  which  Sarah  expected  Miss  Kranz 
she  went  about  her  work  in  a  flutter  of  nervous  expecta- 
tion. The  morning  passed,  the  lunch  hour  passed,  but  no 
investigator  appeared.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  when 
Sarah  had  decided  that  Miss  Kranz  was  not  coming  and 
had  donned  her  working  apron  intending  to  polish  the 
stove,  a  rap  sounded  on  the  door,  followed  by  Miss 
Kranz's  entrance.  Sarah  hastily  spread  both  her  hands 
flat  over  her  stomach  where  the  apron  was  most  soiled. 
Miss  Kranz's  sharp  eyes  traveled  swiftly  over  her  person. 

"How  are  you,  Mrs.  Mendel  ?" 

Sarah,  making  no  reply,  dropped  her  eyes  and  flushed. 

"Nice  rooms,"  remarked  Miss  Kranz,  with  a  hasty 
survey  of  the  premises.  Observing  a  pot  on  the  stove 
she  approached  it  in  a  casual  manner.  Sarah's  hands 
were  clammy.  She  lifted  a  corner  of  her  apron,  partly 
to  wipe  them  and  partly  to  gain  time  to  control  the  hor- 
rid beating  of  her  heart.  The  investigator  threw  a 
hasty  glance  into  the  pot;  its  melancholy  emptiness  pro- 
claimed Sarah  Not  Guilty ! 

"Well,  how  are  you  ?"  Miss  Kranz  repeated,  and  seated 
herself. 

Sarah  also  seated  herself,  so  conscious  of  her  soiled 
apron  that  she  could  not  think  clearly  of  anything  else. 


THE  CELLAR  161 

"Thanks,"  she  said. 

It  being  the  privilege  of  a  Charities  investigator  to  in- 
struct the  lowly  in  the  ways  of  proper  living,  the  lady 
remarked,  though  quite  gently: 

"Now,  Mrs.  Mendel,  look  at  your  apron.  It  is  very 
dirty.  There  is  no  need  for  that.  Water  does  not  cost 
any  money."  She  rose,  walked  over  to  the  sink,  and 
turned  on  the  faucet  to  demonstrate  how  freely  the  water 
flowed. 

Sarah,  her  color  mounting  rapidly,  again  placed  her 
palms  flat  over  her  stomach,  and  smiled  inanely  in 
apology. 

"Nobody  can  be  healthy  who  is  not  clean,"  continued 
Miss  Kranz  to  enlighten  the  ignorant  object  of  charity. 
Sarah's  left  shoulder  jerked  nervously  backward  and  for- 
ward; she  sighed  a  sigh  chopped  in  two  as  it  left  her 
breast.  Miss  Kranz  reseated  herself.  "Well,  have  you 
decided  about  the  children?" 

Sarah's  breath  came  short;  her  heart-beats  seemed  to 
thunder  in  her  ears.  In  fear  and  trepidation  she  replied : 

"I  want  to  keep  my  children.  I  do  not  want  to  send 
them  to  a  Gerry  Society." 

"Gerry  Society?  Who  thinks  of  sending  them  to  the 
Gerry  Society?  We  want  to  place  them  in  an  orphan 
asylum  where  there  are  none  but  Jewish  children.  They 
will  be  better  off  there  than  here."  Miss  Kranz  threw 
a  circular,  semi-disdainful  glance  around  the  room. 

Sarah  became  panic-stricken.  Not  a  Gerry  Society? 
The  firm  ground  of  her  objection  rocked  beneath  her 
feet.  Yet  were  it  ever  so  much  an  orphan  asylum  and 
ever  so  little  a  Gerry  Society,  she  did  not  want  to  part 
from  her  children.  She  bent  forward  and  spoke  with 
restrained  excitement. 


162  SARAH  AND  H&R  DAUGHTER 

"But  I  am  used  to  having  them  at  home.  I  want 
them." 

"Now,  Mrs.  Mendel,  if  you  wish  our  help,  you  must 
be  satisfied  to  do  as  we  say.  We  want  to  do  the  best 
for  you." 

Sarah  twisted  her  fingers  under  her  apron. 

"I  know.  But  it  is  very  bitter."  Tears  came  to  her 
eyes. 

"Well,  think  it  over  a  little  longer,  and  I  will  report 
what  you  said  to-day,"  concluded  Miss  Kranz,  rising. 

"I  want  to  work,"  Sarah  said,  also  rising. 

Miss  Kranz  gave  her  a  quick,  interested  glance. 
"Well,  well,  coming  round,"  she  thought.  In  a  tone  of 
especial  kindness  she  told  Sarah  to  come  to  the  office 
the  following  morning,  and  advised  her  in  the  meantime 
to  consider  carefully  the  matter  of  the  children's  future. 
Sarah  followed  her  to  the  door  burning  to  retort  that  she 
had  already  considered  it  carefully,  but  Miss  Kranz 
turned  to  face  her  and  she  dropped  her  eyes,  and  hastily 
promised  obedience. 

"Have  you  much  left  of  the  money  I  gave  you?" 

Sarah  blinked.  "I  have  enough."  Miss  Kranz  did  not 
require  assurance  of  the  truth  of  the  statement. 

When  the  door  closed,  Sarah  stood  dazed;  then  in  a 
few  moments  she  walked  automatically  into  the  bedroom 
and  looked  at  her  two  sleeping  babies.  "Mem  Gott!" 
she  moaned,  and  wrung  her  hands.  Bubbele  stirred ; 
Sarah  tiptoed  out.  In  an  effort  at  self-control  she  set 
to  polishing  the  stove,  but  soon  dropped  the  brush  and 
went  to  the  window.  One  vacant  stare  out  of  the  win- 
dow, and  she  stepped  over  to  the  sink,  removed  her 
apron,  and  put  it  under  the  running  water.  The  water 
seeping  through  the  apron  came  out  darkly  discolored. 


THE  CELLAR  163 

"It  is  very  dirty,"  she  thought,  flushing  scarlet.  She 
rubbed  soap  on,  but  too  nervous  to  stay  at  the  task 
threw  down  the  soap  and  went  back  to  the  window. 

"God !  they  will  take  the  children  away.  They  will 
take  them  away !"  She  wrung  her  hands  despairingly. 
She  wanted  to  scream,  to  dash  her  head  through  the 
windowpane.  She  pressed  her  hand  against  her  scalp 
which  was  raw  and  painful;  she  was  feverishly  hot. 
A  terrible  vague  fear  shot  through  her.  In  her  terror  she 
threw  open  the  window.  "God,  my  God !  I  am  going 
crazy !"  she  cried,  pressing  her  palms  to  her  temples. 

Bubbele  cried  out.  The  child  dreamed  that  her 
mother  spilled  a  pitcher  of  cold  water  over  her.  Sarah, 
startled,  slammed  the  window  shut  and  rushed  to  her 
baby,  who  wailed  and  clung  to  her. 

"Yes,  my  dollele,  yes,"  Sarah  soothed  her,  stroking  her 
warm  forehead  with  her  dank  hand.  Ida,  too,  awakened, 
and  the  three  moved  into  the  room-of-all-affairs. 

All  night  Sarah  tossed  restlessly  on  her  bed,  rehearsing 
how  she  would  refuse  to  send  her  children  to  the  Orphan 
Asylum  or  Gehrer  Society  or  whatever  it  was. 

The  morning  found  her  ill  and  unable  to  go  to  the 
Charities.  In  the  afternoon  she  sent  Minnie  to  summon 
the  ever-responsive  Mira.  And  Mira,  on  leaving  Sarah, 
deposited  a  dollar  bill  (Sarah's  cash  had  run  low)  under 
a  broken  plate  on  the  table  and  consoled  her: 

"But  if  you  were  sick!" 


XXXIII 

It  was  two  days  before  Sarah  was  well  enough  to  go 
to   the   Charities.     Anxious   to    forestall    criticism,    she 


1 64  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

washed  and  pressed  the  children's  dresses,  and  scrubbed 
and  scoured  their  little  bodies;  as  a  result  of  which  she 
arrived  late,  and  went  down  in  Miss  Kranz's  opinion 
as  one  of  the  habitually  dependent,  such  as  the  relatives 
had  made  her  out  to  be.  Miss  Kranz's  cold  recep- 
tion of  her  only  aggravated  Sarah's  timidity.  With  heart 
pounding  and  breath  labored,  she  seated  herself,  drawing 
the  two  children  close,  and  with  trembling  fingers 
smoothed  out  a  wrinkle  from  her  apron. 

"You  must  let  your  husband  go  to  the  hospital,"  Miss 
Kranz's  voice  reached  her.  "We  can  do  nothing  for 
you  until  you  do  as  we  say."  Miss  Kranz  ushered  out 
an  applicant  who  stood  with  fingers  clasped  in  mute  ap- 
peal. Sarah  felt  as  if  she  must  die  if  Miss  Kranz  proved 
as  relentless  about  the  children  and  the  Gerry  Society. 
But,  whatever  the  obstacles,  she  braced  herself  to  carry 
out  her  resolution. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Mendel,  so  you  have  come?"  Before 
Sarah  could  grasp  the  insinuation  in  the  words  and  offer 
an  explanation,  Miss  Kranz  added :  "Come  upstairs  with 
me." 

Sarah  rose  quickly  grasping  a  child  with  each  hand. 

"No,  leave  the  children  down  here." 

Sarah  cast  a  hasty  suspicious  glance  round  the  room. 
The  subtle  agony  in  it  was  lost  on  Miss  Kranz. 

"Will  they  not  be  in  the  way?" 

"No.    They  may  sit  on  your  chair." 

Seating  Bubbele,  Sarah  stood  Ida  next  to  her  and  whis- 
pered :  "Under  no  circumstances  leave  her ;  and  don't  let 
anyone  bribe  you  away  from  the  spot."  If  Sarah's 
wish  had  taken  flight  to  heaven,  all  orphan  asylums  and 
Gerry  Societies  would  have  crumbled  to  dust  at  that 
moment. 


THE  CELLAR  165 

She  followed  Miss  Kranz  through  a  wide  corridor, 
up  a  spacious  stairway,  to  a  door  marked  "606— Work- 
room." It  was  a  long,  rather  narrow  room,  in  which 
great  stacks  of  clothes  piled  up  around  the  windows  kept 
out  the  daylight.  Miss  Kranz's  whistle  brought  a  re- 
sponse in  a  refined  woman's  voice. 

"All  right,  Miss  Kranz,  I'm  coming." 

From  behind  a  partition  emerged  a  middle-aged  lady, 
whose  personality  suggested  a  closed  chapter  of  affluence 
and  culture.  She  came  slowly  forward  and  smiled  in 
expectancy  of  an  introduction. 

"Mrs.  Mendel — Mrs.  Newman." 

Mrs.  Newman  again  smiled  her  well-bred  smile.  Miss 
Kranz  drawing  her  aside  gave  her  the  details  of  the 
new  case.  Mrs.  Newman  listened,  while  casting  side 
glances  at  Sarah,  who  stood  fumbling  with  her  apron. 
The  interview  ended  with  Miss  Kranz  familiarly  tap- 
ping Mrs.  Newman's  chin  and  flippantly  asking: 
"Verstehen  Sief" 

"All  right,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Newman  with  motherly 
sweetness,  and  turned  in  a  businesslike  manner  to  Sarah, 
who  timidly  drew  a  step  nearer,  though  she  kept  her 
eyes  fastened  on  Miss  Kranz  as  she  moved  to  the  door. 
She  was  about  to  take  the  risk  of  asking  whether  the 
children  were  quite  safe  downstairs,  when  Miss  Kranz 
sang  out :  "Oh,  Mrs.  Newman,  send  Mrs.  Mendel  down 
to  me  again  when  you  are  through  with  her ;  her  children 
are  downstairs."  Sarah's  anguish  subsided. 

"Sit  down,  my  good  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Newman, 
pointing  out  a  chair.  Sarah  falteringly  seated  herself. 
Mrs.  Newman  scanned  the  premises,  then  walked  lei- 
surely to  the  front  of  the  room  and  as  leisurely  returned 
with  a  chair.  Seating  herself  she  released  a  gold  chain 


1 66  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

from  a  tiny  reel  which  lay  embedded  in  her  ample  bosom 
and  placed  the  attached  glasses  on  her  nose. 

"Sprechen  Sie  Deutsch?"  she  asked  leaning  forward 
and  compressing  her  lips. 

Sarah  giving  her  an  eager  glance  said:  "Ya,"  with 
a  touch  of  pride. 

"Oh,"  Mrs.  Newman  ejaculated,  "where  do  you  come 
from?" 

"Memel." 

"Well,  you  are  quite  German,"  Mrs.  Newman's  com- 
ment was  accompanied  by  an  obviously  complimentary 
look.  Sarah  dropped  her  eyes  and  sighed  the  sigh  of  one 
who  has  lost  an  inheritance. 

"Have  you  been  a  widow  long?" 

"No." 

"Was  your  husband  German  also?" 

"No,  he  was  from  the  Baltic  provinces." 

Mrs.  Newman  concluding  she  had  done  enough  to  put 
the  applicant  at  ease,  straightened  up  for  business. 
Sarah  perceiving  that  Mrs.  Newman  meant  to  change  the 
subject,  reflected  that  her  husband's  Russianism  had  de- 
tracted from  the  glory  of  her  Germanism.  A  pained  ex- 
pression came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  sighed  lightly. 

"You  see,"  Mrs.  Newman  began,  pointing  at  the  stacks 
of  old  clothes,  "these  things  are  sent  here  by  good  people 
for  poor  people  like  you  and  your  children.  The  things 
are  often  torn  and  require  mending.  That  is  the  work 
you  will  have  to  do  here.  You'll  start  at  ten  o'clock  to- 
morrow morning.  That  will  give  you  time  to  send  the 
children  off  to  school."  Mrs.  Newman  smiled  kindly 
again.  "The  women  are  all  very  nice  here.  You  will 
soon  make  friends.  The  work  is  easy,  plain  sewing, 


THE  CELLAR  167 

you  know."  She  rose ;  Sarah  followed  suit.  "Come  to- 
morrow at  ten,"  Mrs.  Newman  glanced  toward  the  door 
to  indicate  that  Sarah  was  dismissed. 

Poor  Sarah  longed  to  tell  her  that  she  was  not  an 
adept  seamstress  and  vastly  preferred  work  "by  ladies." 
But  Mrs.  Newman,  whose  day  was  too  full  to  allow  her 
much  time  for  a  single  applicant,  divining  that  Sarah 
had  things  to  say  (they  all  had  if  one  gave  oneself  up 
to  them)  assumed  the  forbidding  air  of  the  superior, 
which  quashed  Sarah's  courage. 

"You  go  down  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs.  Miss 
Kranz's  room  is  on  the  first  floor.  Good-by."  The  direc- 
tions were  given  with  flawless  courtesy.  But  Mrs.  New- 
man turned  her  back. 

It  was  many  years  since  Sarah  had  experienced  a 
moment  of  self-respect  and  social  equality ;  and  the 
rapid  termination  of  the  luxury  left  her  miserable.  In  a 
daze  she  turned  to  the  door  and  left  hurriedly. 

"Sit  down,  mama,"  Ida  whispered  when  Sarah  ap- 
peared in  Miss  Kranz's  room.  Sarah  remained  standing, 
however,  for  Miss  Kranz,  busy  writing,  gave  no  indica- 
tion of  what  was  expected  of  her.  Sarah  wiped  her 
sweaty  face  with  her  hands  and  her  sweaty  hands  on  the 
corner  of  her  apron. 

When  Miss  Kranz  finally  wheeled  round  in  her  chair 
and  shot  the  question,  "Well,  how  about  the  children?" 
Sarah  grew  so  dizzy  that  she  almost  reeled.  With  the 
irresponsibility  of  excessive  nervousness,  she  cried: 

"I  will  not  give  them  away.  I  suffered  the  torture 
of  bringing  my  children  into  the  world,  I  will  keep 
them."  A  flame  of  self-assertion  burned  in  her  eyes  and 
a  dare-devil  spirit  supplanted  her  timidity. 

The  refined  Miss  Kranz,  taken  aback,  made  no  reply. 


1 68  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

At  the  close  of  the  day  her  notation  on  the  report-card 
of  Case  No.  31100  read:  "Applicant  offensively  refused 
to  commit  children." 


XXXIV 

Shortly  before  ten  o'clock  the  following  morning, 
Sarah,  successfully  evading  an  encounter  with  Miss 
Kranz,  stealthily  made  her  way  through  the  spacious  hall 
to  the  work-room.  As  she  paused  hesitatingly  on  the 
threshold,  Mrs.  Newman  looked  up,  greeted  her  with  the 
cordiality  of  one  meeting  another  on  the  same  level  and 
invited  her  in.  "Take  off  your  shawl,"  she  said  as  she 
called:  "Miss  Greenberg,  oh,  Miss  Greenberg!" 

From  behind  a  table  piled  high  with  old  clothing  came 
a  little  middle-aged  woman,  whose  face  betrayed  one 
long,  bitter  struggle  with  Fate,  in  which  Fate  had  won. 

"Miss  Greenberg,  this  is  Mrs.  Mendel." 

Miss  Greenberg  in  no  way  indicated  that  she  was  af- 
fected by  the  introduction.  Some  whispered  instruction, 
then  Miss  Greenberg  called  in  a  dry  voice :  "Come 
missus!"  and  turned  sharply.  Mrs.  Newman  motioned 
Sarah  to  follow.  Sarah  did  so  with  bowed  head.  Miss 
Greenberg  stopping  at  the  center  of  a  long,  narrow  table, 
drew  out  a  vacant  chair. 

"Sit  down  here,"  she  said  to  Sarah  and  walked  away. 

Other  women  seated  at  the  table  gave  the  new  woman 
a  hasty  glance  of  inspection  and  bent  again  over  their 
work.  Sarah's  senses  were  numb.  At  Miss  Greenberg's 
reappearance  she  grew  a  bit  panicy,  and  received  the 
needle,  thread,  thimble  and  pair  of  scissors  with  un- 
steady hands.  "Try  on  the  thimble,"  said  Miss  Green- 


THE  CELLAR  169 

berg  in  the  same  dry,  lifeless  voice,  and  again  left 
abruptly. 

The  thimble  leapt  out  of  Sarah's  fingers  to  the  floor 
and  rolled  into  an  obscure  corner  of  the  room.  Terror 
struck  her  heart.  She  bent  here  and  there  in  search 
of  it,  conscious  of  ten  Miss  Greenbergs  and  a  dozen 
Mrs.  Newmans  and  a  whole  roomful  of  persecuting 
women.  She  grew  hot  and  sweaty  and  enraged  with 
her  lucklessness.  Just  as  she  located  the  thimble  Miss 
Greenberg  re-appeared.  Sarah  was  seated. 

"Fix  this  with  backhand  stitches,"  said  Miss  Green- 
berg,  holding  up  a  heavy  brown  coat  in  which  was  a 
rent.  Laying  the  coat  on  Sarah's  lap  Miss  Greenberg 
was  off  again. 

Now  nature  in  her  wisdom  or  folly  had  omitted  from 
Sarah's  composition  any  aptitude  for  needlework.  She 
had  never  sewed,  had  never  learned  how  to  sew,  and 
had  never  wanted  to  learn  how  to  sew.  This  suddenly 
imposed  task  was  a  cruelty.  But  who  saw  it  as  such? 
Who  sees  it  as  such  to-day?  Poverty  is  an  attribute 
which  subjects  all  who  possess  it  to  a  Procrustean  law. 

Sarah  tried  to  comprehend  the  meaningless  words, 
"backhand  stitches"  and  excitedly  fumbled  with  the 
needle  and  the  thread  to  effect  their  necessary  alliance. 
At  last  she  succeeded  in  inserting  the  thread.  Her  relief 
was  only  momentary,  for  she  drew  the  thread  the  wrong 
way  and  pulled  it  out  again.  Flushing  scarlet  she  more 
nervously  attempted  the  threading  a  second  time.  Con- 
cluding the  operation,  she  adjusted  the  heavy  coat  to  her 
lap.  "Backhand  stitches !"  rang  in  her  ears.  What  were 
they?  She  leaned  a  little  toward  the  neighbor  on  her 
right  to  glimpse,  if  possible,  how  she  did  it.  The  woman 
lifted  a  face  so  desiccated  and  unfriendly  that  Sarah 


170  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

hastily  turned  the  other  way.  There  she  encountered  a 
placid  countenance,  as  vacant  as  a  cow's  and  a  broad  grin 
that  kept  the  mouth  wide  open  and  displayed  large,  white 
regular  teeth. 

"What  is  the  matter,  missus?" 

Sarah,  fearful  of  provoking  displeasure,  looked  about 
timorously  to  see  whether  Mrs.  Newman  or  Miss  Green- 
berg  were  observing  her.  She  knew  instinctively  that 
Miss  Greenberg  was  easily  moved  to  anger. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid ;  I  am  allowed  to  help  you." 
The  woman  waved  her  hand  as  an  accompaniment  to 
the  boast.  "I  am  already  an  old  customer.  They  all 
ask  me  when  they  first  come."  Her  grin  ended  in  a  dulf 
giggle.  Sarah  gave  a  hurried  nervous  glance  round. 

"What's  backhand  stitches?"  she  whispered,  a  timicf 
smile  on  her  flushed  face. 

"Oh,  like  that "  the  woman  said,  taking  Sarah's 

coat  and  needle. 

As  Sarah  looked  on  in  strained  attention,  the  other's 
fingers  flew  deftly  and  evenly  over  the  rent.  But  when 
Sarah  attempted  to  imitate,  her  needle  snapped  at  the 
third  stitch.  Such  agony  was  expressed  in  Sarah's  eyes 
that  the  phlegmatic  woman  was  moved. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  she  whispered.  "I  will  get  you  an- 
other needle."  She  turned  to  her  neighbor ;  the  neighbor 
had  no  needle  to  spare.  She  was  about  to  rise  and  ap- 
propriate one  from  the  drawer  in  which  the  needles  were 
kept  when  Miss  Greenberg  appeared  to  investigate  the 
new  woman's  progress.  Had  it  not  been  for  Sarah's 
obvious  nervousness  and  distress  Miss  Greenberg  would 
have  given  the  deserved  reprimand.  As  it  was  she  went 
off  without  comment  for  another  needle. 


THE  CELLAR  171 

"As  long  as  she  did  not  holler,  don't  care,"  the  left- 
hand  neighbor  encouraged  Sarah. 

Miss  Greenberg  stood  over  Sarah  as  she  tried  once 
more  to  thread  the  needle.  So  the  task  became  utterly  im- 
possible and  though  Miss  Greenberg  had  seen  trembling 
hands  before,  she  was  moved  to  thread  the  needle  her- 
self. Abstractedly  she  lingered  beside  Sarah,  resting  one 
hand  against  the  table.  Sarah's  instructor  bent  stealthily 
over  the  hand,  kissed  it,  and  flung  up  her  face  beaming 
with  a  phlegmatic,  ingratiating  smile.  Miss  Greenberg 
good-naturedly  tapped  her  on  the  head.  One  or  two 
women  laughed.  The  woman  at  Sarah's  right  scowled 
and  muttered:  "Sucker!"  Sarah  experienced  a  curious 
sensation  of  uncleanliness  and  strangeness  to  herself. 
She  threw  a  swift  glance  at  the  women — the  room — and 
struggled  to  realize  her  own  presence  there — her  rela- 
tionship to  it  all.  With  a  sigh  she  lowered  her  eyes.  She 
sent  her  needle  too  deep  into  the  heavy  material  and  it 
snapped  again. 

The  repeated  offense  roused  Miss  Greenberg  to  a 
sense  of  her  supervisory  capacity.  She  snatched  the 
broken  needle,  went  quickly  for  another  and  told  Sarah 
that  there  would  not  be  a  third. 

Sarah  labored  over  the  rent  all  morning  and  was  ex- 
hausted. 

Her  left-hand  neighbor  initiated  her  into  the  way  of 
closing  shop;  she  was  to  stow  her  needle  here,  her 
thimble  there,  et  cetera.  As  the  women  departed  they 
sang  out  cordial  good-by's  to  their  supervisors  and  to 
their  partners  in  poverty.  The  room  was  finally  de- 
serted. Sarth  timidly  lingered,  awaiting  Mrs.  Newman's 
instructions.  The  worthy  lady  at  last  appeared,  asked 
her  why  she  hadn't  left,  and  told  her  to  be  on  time  in  the 


172  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

morning.  "Wasn't  it  nice  and  pleasant?"  she  asked  and, 
waiting  for  no  reply,  added :  "It's  nice  and  pleasant,"  and 
turned  away. 

On  the  stairs  Sarah  found  the  phlegmatic  neighbor 
waiting  for  her,  evidently  eager  to  learn  Sarah's  pedi- 
gree. Sarah  in  her  misery  turned  abruptly,  as  though 
from  a  bad  stench,  and  left  the  woman  muttering:  "Un- 
grateful !  Crank !" 

Miss  Greenberg  reported  to  Mrs.  Newman  that  the 
"new  case"  was  "very  slow  and  inefficient."  Mrs.  New- 
man, with  a  wise  air,  replied  Sarah  was  "that  sort,  you 
know." 

Minnie  and  Jacob  were  leaving  for  the  afternoon  ses- 
sion when  Sarah  returned,  feeling  as  if  she  had  been  gone 
from  her  children  an  eternity.  Passionately  she  hugged 
and  kissed  Bubbele  as  her  heart  cried :  "Elias !  oh,  Elias !" 
And  she  sank  down  on  the  lounge  and  shook  with  sobs 
as  deep  as  the  misery  of  her  life.  Ida  and  Bubbele, 
frightened  and  pale,  tugged  at  her  skirt  and  tried  to  tear 
her  hands  away  from  her  face.  Failing,  they,  too,  burst 
into  sobs.  But  Sarah  could  not  control  herself — not  even 
for  their  sake. 

In  the  evening  Mira  came  again,  to  Sarah's  immense 
solace. 

XXXV 

From  Mira's  manner,  as  she  entered  the  room,  Sarah 
discerned  at  once  that  she  had  a  confidence  to  impart, 
and,  therefore,  checked  her  impulse  to  pour  out  the  tale 
of  her  tribulations.  Mira,  however,  no  less  quick  to  dis- 
cern, cried  commiseratingly : 

"Nu,  what  is  it,  God  mine?    You  look  yellow  in  the 


THE  CELLAR  173 

face,  and  your  forehead  is  as  furrowed  as  if  the  world 
were  weighing  on  your  head." 

Sarah's  lips  quivered ;  she  dropped  her  eyes.  Tears 
came  in  spite  of  her  attempt  at  self-control. 

"Nu,  speak  out  your  heart;  it  will  relieve  you,"  Mira 
urged. 

"For  me  there  is  no  relief,"  Sarah  replied. 

But  Mira  insisted,  and  with  the  telling  of  her  experi- 
ences a  faint  relief  came  to  Sarah's  soul.  At  least  there 
was  one  person  in  the  world  who  understood  the  smart, 
the  sting,  the  humiliation,  the  agony  of  what  she  was 
going  through. 

And  it  was  not  Mira's  sympathy  alone  that  consoled ; 
Mira  seemed  also  to  have  a  definite  remedy  of  some  sort 
up  her  sleeve.  Every  little  while,  during  Sarah's  recital, 
she  threw  a  sidelong  glance  from  her  sharp,  blue  eyes 
and  thrust  her  chin  forward  as  much  as  to  say:  "Wait 
till  you  hear  what  I  have  to  tell!"  And  when  Sarah 
concluded  her  tale,  she  sat  up  straighter  and  darted  in- 
tenser  glances. 

"What  is  your  news  ?"  asked  Sarah. 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  Mira  burst  out,  as  if 
Sarah  had  been  contradicting  her.  "I  am  a  business 
lady." 

She  answered  Sarah's  look  of  astonishment  and  inter- 
rogation by  opening  a  package  and  displaying  pieces  of 
blaclt  buckram  edged  with  wire. 

"They,  my  relatives,  sent  me  this  from  Boston.  They 
call  it  bends  (Mira's  pronunciation  of  "bands"),  and 
they  told  me  that  I  should  try  to  get  orders  for  the  bends 
in  the  millinery  stores  here  in  New  York.  If  I  succeed, 
they  will  send  me  a  lot  of  the  buckram  and  wire,  and  I 
can  make  them  up  myself  and  sell  them  at  a  profit,  which 


174  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

will  go  to  me.  I  went  around  from  store  to  store  and 
I  have  got  orders  galore."  She  smacked  her  thin  lips, 
settled  back  in  her  chair,  and  looked  up  as  if  challenging 
Sarah  to  mention  another  person  as  smart  as  herself, 
while  her  knob  of  red  hair  nodded  back:  "I  should  say 
there  isn't  anyone  as  smart  as  I  am."  As  an  after- 
thought she  added:  "It  is  really  very  nice  of  my  rela- 
tives ;"  but  since  it  was  not  in  her  nature  to  give  the  devil 
a  bit  more  than  his  due,  she  quickly  hooked  on :  "But 
they  are  in  Boston.  They  could  not  sell  in  New  York 
anyway.  So  what  does  it  hurt  them  ?"  Another  thought 
popped  into  her  head.  "Nu,  who  knows?  Mira  Cohen 
can  yet  become  a  regular  business  lady."  Her  eyes 
moistened.  Mira  was  one  of  those  people  who  are  not 
so  sure  that  the  sun  shines  behind  the  clouds.  She,  too, 
was  having  a  hard  struggle,  with  a  "useless"  husband, 
an  unruly  daughter,  and  a  stuttering  son. 

For  a  time  both  women  gazed  into  space,  as  though 
trying  to  fathom  the  deeps  of  life.  Sarah  was  the  first 
to  break  the  silence  by  sighing.  Then  Mira  said  the 
thing  for  which  Sarah's  curiosity  had  been  palpitating. 

"Who  knows — if  I  get  enough  orders  you  can  maybe 
help  me  with  the  sewing,  and  we  can  do  the  business  to- 
gether. If  there  will  be  for  you  a  little  and  for  me  a 

little  it  will  be  enough "  She  gave  a  shrug  of  her 

shoulders.  "Who  expects  to  become  a  millionaire?"  she 
added  deprecatingly,  as  if  to  propitiate  fate. 

Again  they  gazed  into  space.  Before  Sarah's  vision 
passed  scenes  of  the  Charities  work-room.  How  she 
loatfie'd  it!  Would  Mira's  "bends"  hold  a  way  out?  She 
dared  not  hope  so  far.  Time  and  again,  bending  over  her 
sewing,  which  required  daily  a  veritable  revolutionizing 
of  her  nature,  she  felt  it  would  be  more  decent  to  squat 


THE  CELLAR  175 

on  the  curb  on  Grand  Street  grinding  an  organ  for  pen- 
nies.   How  she  loathed -it! 

Mira,  to  cheer  her,  told  a  story  of  a  poor  man  who  had 
a  dog,  who  was  driven  by  hunger  to  commit  a  theft  and 
took  the  dog  along.  It  was  in  the  dead  of  night.  The 
dog,  hearing  a  strange  sound,  barked.  The  man  tried  to 
quiet  the  animal.  "S-sh,  dog,"  he  said,  "if  I  make  a  suc- 
cessful robbery,  you,  too,  shall  have  a  bone  to  suck." 

XXXVI 

Sarah  always  slunk  past  Miss  Kranz's  office  in  terror. 
If  only  she  could  evade  being  called  upon  to  give  a  de- 
cision regarding  the  children,  she  thought,  until  Mira  took 
her  into  partnership,  "the  world  would  be  mine."  Once 
in  the  work-room  she  would  breathe  easily  again  and  lose 
herself  in  dreams  of  a  brighter  future,  in  which  her  two 
rooms  on  Rutgers  Street  were  filled  with  buckram,  coils 
of  wire,  thimbles,  needles,  thread.  Around  the  table  sat 
she,  Minnie,  Ida,  and  even  Jacob,  manufacturing  bands. 
In  this  glory,  the  work-room  faded  into  non-existence. 

One  day  Miss  Kranz  opened  the  door  upon  a  most 
vivid  dream.  Crash  went  Sarah's  castle  in  the  air! 
"Woe  is  me,  if  only  she  has  not  come  to  tell  me  I  must 
give  the  children  away!"  The  whole  miserable  reality 
overwhelmed  her. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Mendel,"  Miss  Kranz  called,  as  Sarah's 
soul  made  its  descent  from  the  air-castle  to  hell. 

"Well,  dear !"  came  from  Mrs.  Newman.  Miss  Kranz 
turned  from  Sarah,  greeted  the  supervisor,  and  the  two 
walked  away  together. 

Had  Sarah  only  known  that  she  need  have  no  fear! 
Those  whose  province  it  was  to  mould  the  destinies  of 


1 76  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

the  worthy  poor  had  decided  that  it  would  be  better  to 
wait  until  Sarah  herself  begged  for  shelter  for  her  chil- 
dren. They  proceeded  on  the  theory  that  if  a  man  wished 
to  affect  small  feet  he  should  be  given  small  shoes  and 
allowed  to  feel  the  pinch  of  them  until  he  himself  cried 
out.  But  the  Charities  did  not  know  all  the  facts.  How 
could  they  know  the  facts  when  Sarah  had  not  told  them  ? 
What  reason  had  they  to  suspect  that  a  source  of  income 
rising  to  seventy-five  cents  and  even  a  dollar  a  week 
flowed  from  Jacob ;  that  Minnie's  mothering  of  the  butch- 
er's twins  yielded  another  munificent  sum ;  that  there  ex- 
isted a  sympathetic  relative  who,  according  to  his  wife's 
version,  was  cursed  with  a  good  nature  that  blessed  the 
Mendels  with  an  occasional  gift  of  money,  and  that  there 
was  a  conscience-stricken  compatriot,  Mira? 

For  some  time  after  her  last  call,  Mira  did  not  come 
again.  Twice  she  had  sent  a  dollar  bill  by  the  sympa- 
thetic relative  and  a  message  that  she  would  visit  Sarah 
soon.  But  ten  full  weeks  passed  without  her  putting  in 
appearance  and  Sarah  decided  that  if  the  mountain  did 
not  come  to  her,  she  would  go  to  the  mountain. 

Her  dream  of  piles  of  buckram,  endless  coils  of  wire, 
and  quantities  of  needles,  thimbles,  and  thread,  with  chil- 
dren helping,  had  become  a  fact  at  Mira's  home.  When 
she  entered,  she  found  Mira  heated,  with  black  streaks 
discoloring  her  face,  bent  busily  over  her  work. 

Mira  flushed  self-consciously.  She  had  received  many 
orders  for  the  bands,  enough,  in  fact,  to  keep  someone 
else  beside  herself  and  children  busy.  Yet  who  can  blame 
Mira?  He  who  has  just  saved  himself  from  drowning 
is  not  eager  to  go  back  into  the  deep  water  to  rescue  an- 
other. For  the  first  time  since  she  had  come  to  Amer- 
ica, Mira  enjoyed  the  comfort  of  knowing  that  twenty- 


THE  CELLAR  177 

five  dollars  rested  in  the  bank  for  her.  How  could  she 
be  expected  to  share  the  intoxication  with  a  mere  com- 
patriot? Besides,  when  she  had  told  Sarah  her  news 
and  had  suggested  partnership,  she  had  done  so  unpre- 
meditatedly,  under  the  swift  impulse  of  pity  for  her  un- 
happy friend. 

The  evening  passed  in  conversation  on  the  various 
phases  of  their  respective  lots  in  life,  while  in  the  back  of 
each  of  their  minds  danced  the  promised  partnership. 
Mira,  however,  said  not  a  word  on  the  subject.  Indeed, 
a  few  minutes  after  Sarah's  arrival,  she  and  her  chil- 
dren cleared  away  all  traces  of  the  new  industry. 

Sarah  walked  home  with  an  intensity  of  bitterness  rag- 
ing in  her  heart  such  as  even  she  had  never  experienced. 
In  the  days  that  followed  Elias's  death,  she  had  been 
dazed.  Now  she  was  as  painfully  sensitive  as  an  open 
wound.  She  saw  in  all  its  clearness  what  lay  ahead  for 
her  and  her  children.  They  were  doomed  forever  to  pov- 
erty, to  sordidness,  the  lowest  dregs  of  humiliation.  The 
cup  of  hope  had  been  held  to  her  lips  only  to  be  dashed  to 
the  ground. 

All  night,  wide-eyed  and  sleepless,  she  lay  staring  de- 
spairingly into  the  darkness.  Jumbled  thoughts,  yet  none 
the  less  vivid,  tossed  in  her  brain.  Her  fate  was  to  be 
innumerable  years  of  serfdom  in  the  Charities  work- 
room, with  the  cow-like  creature  always  at  her  right  and 
the  yellow,  shrivelled  half-corpse  at  her  left.  And  worse 
yet,  no  other  fate  seemed  likely,  even  for  her  children. 
She  pictured  them  branded  with  crosses  on  the  chests, 
domineered  over  by  rough  Gerry  Society  officials ;  in 

maturity  cast  out  into  the  heartless  world  like  herself 

And  by  then  she  would  be  dead!  .  .  .  She  lay  in  frozen 
rigidity.  A  wave  of  misery  seemed  to  surge  over  her 


178          SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

head,  so  that  she  gasped  for  breath.  .  .  .  She  shook  her- 
self. Suddenly  she  was  gripped  by  the  fear  that  in  such 
deep  despair  lay  destruction.  Her  soul  struggled  as  out 
of  a  quicksand  toward  hopefulness.  Why  this  despair? 
Was  she  not  able-bodied?  Was  all  the  world  but  the 
Charities  closed  to  her?  Could  she  not  do  something, 

too — do  something She  sat  bolt  upright,   spurred 

by  a  new  impetus.  ...  If  success  were  possible  for  the 
homely,  unrefined,  red-headed  Mira,  why  was  not  suc- 
cess possible  for  her,  too?  If  Mira's  children,  one 
"meshuga,"  another  a  "mecka,"  could  be  of  help  to  her 
in  a  business,  why  could  not  her  children  be  of  much 
greater  help?  Why  could  she  not  be  a  business  lady, 
too? 

XXXVII 

"Minnie,"  Sarah  said  the  next  evening  (her  daugh- 
ter had  just  returned  from  a  club  meeting  at  the  Queen's 
Daughters,  Jacob  was  out  selling  his  papers,  and  the 
younger  children  were  on  the  street),  "I  want  you  to 
go  over  to  Mira.  Say  you  passed  and  just  stepped  in. 
When  she  is  not  looking,  take  a  piece  of  black  buckram 
with  wire  sewed  on  the  edge.  You  will  see  pieces  like 
that  lying  around  there.  Hide  it  under  your  dress  and 
bring  it  home." 

Minnie  knew  all  about  Mira's  "bends"  business,  hav- 
ing heard  her  mother  tell  of  it  to  the  Sympathetic  Rela- 
tive. 

Sarah  held  her  head  high  as  she  spoke  and  put  a  touch 
of  defiance  into  her  manner,  in  anticipation  of  opposi- 
tion from  her  young  daughter. 

Minnie  looked  at  her  mother  at  first  uncomprehend- 


THE  CELLAR  179 

ingly,  then  in  astonishment.  Though  her  intuition 
warned  her  that  she  would  rouse  her  mother's  displeas- 
ure, she  answered  in  a  fretful,  self -defensive  tone: 

"I  don'  wanna,  mama." 

Sarah  was  well  aware  that  her  request  was  no 
credit  to  her  motherhood,  but  it  was  not  the  province  of 
a  child  of  hers  to  tell  her  so.  She  grew  angry.  Her 
upper  lip  twitched,  her  lids  fluttered,  her  body  stiffened. 
She  advanced  upon  Minnie,  ready  to  shake  the  child, 
who  withdrew  into  a  corner  of  the  room. 

"You  do  not  want  to?"  she  shouted.  The  two  glared 
at  each  other,  Minnie,  her  thumb  in  her  mouth,  her  head 
bent  and  eyes  raised. 

"Didn'  you  yourself  send  me  back  wid  the  nickel  that 
time  to  the  grocery  store  when  I  brang  it  too  much  for 
you  ?  By  Mira  to  go  and  take  is  stealing !  I  don'  wanna 
steal." 

A  slap  in  the  face  would  have  been  easier  to  bear. 
Sarah  took  a  hasty  step  forward,  raised  her  fist  and 
slowly,  taking  a  breath  after  each  word,  shouted  at  the 
cowering  child : 

"All  black  years  on  your  head,  you  ungrateful  worm, 
you !  I  slave  for  you  to  keep  you  home.  To  the  Gerry 
Society  I  ought  to  send  you,  all  of  you,  where  others 
send  their  children.  All  of  you  I  ought  to  send  there. 
Instead  I  slave  for  you  and  fight  with  everybody  to  keep 
you  together,  and  now  you  stand  before  me,  small  as  you 
are,  and  call  me  a  thief!"  The  passionate  outburst  was 
so  out  of  keeping  with  what  the  child's  diffident  refusal 
merited  that  even  Sarah  realized  it  as  soon  as  the 
words  were  out  of  her  mouth.  True  to  human  nature, 
she  had  sought  self-defense  in  the  exaggeration  of  the 
offense. 


i8o  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Minnie,  petrified  but  not  crushed,  sobbed  as  she  cried : 

"Why  don'  you  send  Jacob,  or  Ida  'stead  a  me  ?" 

Here  Ida  entered.  She  stood  at  the  door  a  moment 
rubbing  her  nose  with  the  cuff  of  her  dress;  her  face 
was  blue  and  pinched  with  the  cold. 

"Wots  a  madder,  ma?"  she  asked. 

"Go  away !"  Sarah  shouted.    The  child  staggered  back. 

Sarah  flung  out  of  the  room  into  the  bedroom  and 
threw  herself  upon  the  bed.  But  her  pounding  heart 
made  a  recumbent  position  impossible.  She  jumped  up 
again  and  returned  to  the  room-of-all-affairs,  where 
Minnie,  crouching  in  a  corner,  was  silently  weeping.  Ida, 
seated  on  the  lounge,  sprang  to  her  feet  at  sight  of  her 
angry  mother. 

"Your  sister,"  Sarah  cried  to  Ida,  "is  a  whole  honest 
lady.  Maybe,  my  younger  daughter,  you  are  such  a  lady, 
too?"  Her  tone  carried  bitter  sarcasm.  Taking  a  deep 
breath  and  coming  close  to  Ida,  she  began  emphatically : 
"Now,  Ida "  And  she  repeated  her  demand. 

For  the  very  life  of  her  Ida  could  not  understand  why 
sucE  a  fuss  had  been  made  over  such  a  little  thing. 

"Sure  I'll  go.  Sh'll  I  go  now?  I'll  take  Bubbele  along, 
hah?" 

"All  right,"  said  Sarah,  with  averted  eyes.  Sarah 
never  forgot  that  scene  with  Minnie. 

Ida  left  and  in  half  an  hour  returned,  bringing  the 
Mendels'  future  in  her  little  hand. 

XXXVIII 

For  three  days  Sarah  and  Minnie  were  not  on  speak- 
ing terms.  The  evening  of  the  third  day  they  happened 
to  be  left  alone  together  in  the  home.  Minnie  was  busily 


THE  CELLAR  181 

engaged  in  her  studies;  Sarah  was  struggling  to  edge 
pieces  of  black  buckram  with  black  wire.  Suddenly  her 
needle  snapped,  and  the  broken  point  pierced  under  her 
fingernail.  She  shrieked  with  the  pain.  Minnie,  terri- 
fied, jumped  up  and  rushed  to  her.  "Mama!"  she 

cried,  "oh,  mama,  mama "    Her  little  face  was  drawn 

with  compassion  as  she  watched  Sarah  extricate  the 
point.  "It  hurts  you  so,"  the  child  cooed  tenderly. 
"Suck  the  blood  away  wid  your  mouth."  She  gazed  up 
at  her  mother,  the  deepest  solicitude  in  her  lovely  gray 
eyes,  the  gentlest  love  in  her  heart.  Sarah  gave  no  sigh 
of  appreciation. 

Settled  again  at  her  work,  Minnie  timidly  called  to  her 
mother  from  the  sink,  to  which  she  had  gone  to  wash 
away  blood  stains : 
"Ma,  kin  I  help  you  ?" 

"Help!"  shouted  Sarah  angrily,  adding,  as  if  her  de- 
cision were  the  result  of  deliberation :  "You  will  all  help. 
Your  easy  days  are  over,  the  days  when  your  mother 
alone  will  slave.  You  are  orphans.  You  must  help." 
She  dropped  her  eyes.  "You  stand  back  and  call  your 
mother  a  thief !"  she  concluded. 

It  was  not  Sarah,  but  Sarah's  tongue,  which  spoke. 
How  much  more  complex  were  her  feelings  ;  and  how  dif- 
ferent was  the  language  of  her  storm-tossed  heart ! 

Minnie  came  closer  to  her  mother  and  nestled  against 
her  unfriendly  body. 

"Ma,  I  didn'  call  you  a  thief ;  only  Miss  Lacey  always 
says,  too,  we  should  always  be  honest." 

"You  always  have  some  excuse  to  take  you  away  from 
your  mother  and  your  sisters  and  brother.  First  it  was 
Abie,  now  it  is  Miss  Lacey — Cracey — Macey  in  that  gen- 
tile charity "  Sarah's  eyes  gleamed  with  so  strange 


1 82  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

a  light  that  Minnie  moved  away  from  her  and  presently 
went  downstairs.  Standing  at  the  front  door  of  the  tene- 
ment, her  thoughts  wandered  back  to  Henry  Street  and 
Abie.  Where  was  he?  The  days  of  Henry  Street 
seemed  so  long  ago !  Her  "papa"  sailed  before  her  tear- 
ful vision.  She  stood  bent  and  wrinkled — a  little  old 
woman  of  eight. 

Sarah,  left  alone,  applied  herself  even  more  zealously 
to  her  sewing.  Several  things  accounted  for  her  bitter 
mood.  She  had  been  reprimanded  by  the  ever-scolding 
Miss  Greenberg;  Miss  Kranz  had  passed  her  in  the  hall 
without  greeting  her ;  upon  that  had  followed  the  strain  of 
finding  shops  where  buckram  and  wire  could  be  bought, 
and  the  wearisomeness  of  learning  to  make  the  bands 
without  instruction.  Each  difficulty  brought  fresh  ter- 
rors ;  each  fresh  terror  was  fought  with  giant  might.  She 

was  a  quivering  mass  of  raw  nerves. 

****** 

In  a  week  Sarah  began  to  solicit  trade.  She  plodded 
from  one  millinery  shop  to  another — from  Grand  Street 
to  Division  Street,  from  Division  to  Delancey.  She  so- 
licited from  every  shop  regardless  of  whether  it  had  al- 
ready disposed  of  its  custom  or  not,  offering  prices  more 
attractive  than  others,  and,  where  she  was  denied,  plead- 
ing: "I  am  a  widow  with  four  children  and  I  must  sup- 
port them."  Within  a  month  she  acquired  a  fair  clientele. 
The  children  were  ordered  to  put  their  shoulders  to  the 
wheel.  It  became  a  busy  household. 

Mornings  Sarah  continued  to  work  at  the  Charities, 
since  the  bird  in  the  hand  could  not  be  lightly  tossed 
aside,  and  she  planned  to  remain  one  more  week  so  as 
to  assure  a  safe  margin,  then  she  would  throw  up  the 
work  and  also  refuse  to  take  alms. 


THE  CELLAR  183 

Before  the  week  was  up,  however,  a  contretemps  oc- 
curred to  upset  her  arrangements.     Mira,  informed  by 
one  of  Sarah's  dissatisfied  customers  that  Sarah  had  be- 
come her  competitor,  betook  herself  to  the  Mendel  home 
early  one  morning  and  told  Sarah  for  the  second  time  in 
the  course  of  their  friendship  just  what  she  thought  of 
her.     And  this  time  Mira  did  not  forgive  until  the  day 
of  Sarah's  funeral.     The  scene  wholly  unnerved  Sarah. 
At  the  Charities  work-room  she  was  almost  too  unstrung 
to  bear  Miss  Greenberg's  bad  humor  and  fault-finding. 
The  climax  came  when  Miss  Kranz  summoned  her  at 
closing  time   and   announced   that   the   Charities   would 
withdraw  their  payment  of  her  rent.    The  Charities  had 
"smelt  a  rat"  in  Sarah's  continued  satisfaction  with  the 
pittance  allowed  her  for  her  labors  in  the  work-room, 
which,  they  knew,  was  insufficient  for  the  full  support 
of  her  family.    As  she  did  not  cry  out  from  the  pinch  of 
the  small  shoes,  they  concluded  that  she  had  an  unac- 
knowledged source  of  income.    Miss  Kranz,  as  she  voiced 
her  suspicion,  observed  Sarah's  reaction  as  intently  as  if 
she  were  putting  her  through  the  Third  Degree.     Sarah 
was  uninformed  in   the  ways  of  the  grafter,  else   she 
might  have  taken  the  precaution  to  avert  this  suspicion. 
She  stared  at  Miss  Kranz,  her  soul  outraged  and  indig- 
nant, her  body  quivering  from  head  to  toe.    Finally  she 
took  the  plunge  she  had  been  longing  to  take  all  the 
months,  safe  margin  or  no  safe  margin. 

"You  nothing  you "  she  cried,  "you  independent 

nobody — you  who  would  die  of  fright  at  the  remotest 
prospect  of  enduring  my  hardships  and  suffering — you 
dare  to  stand  there  brazenly  accusing  me  of  swindling 
you  for  your  dirty  alms?  Why,  my  fingers  and  heart 
burned  at  the  very  touch  of  it — I  prayed  for  death  to  be 


T84  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

spared  the  humiliation You  little,  empty  crea- 
ture. .  .  .  And  that  shrunken,  dried-out  Miss  Greenberg 
is  one  of  a  pair  with  you.  At  home  we  would  not  have 
had  you  for  our  servants." 

Poor  Sarah !  In  her  outrage  she  grossly  exaggerated 
the  weaknesses  of  these  people.  She  did  not  realize  that 
they,  as  much  as  she,  were  the  victims  of  an  all-too- 
sorry  system. 

For  years  afterward,  when  Charity  officials  needed  to 
cite  a  case  of  ingratitude  (had  they  not  rescued  the 
woman  from  the  very  gutter?),  Case  No.  31100  was  pro- 
duced. 

Sarah,  for  her  part,  flung  the  Charities  far,  far  from 
her,  and  from  that  day  concentrated  on  the  bands  busi- 
ness with  the  fierce  determination  with  which  men  and 
animals  fight  in  a  life-and-death  struggle. 


PART   III 
BANDS 


PART  III 
BANDS 

Were  not  money  restricted  to  its  particular  kind  of 
speech,  a  certain  one  thousand  dollars  lying  deposited  in 
the  Bowery  Bank  of  New  York  City  might  have  told  an 
interesting  tale  of  what  it  had  done  to  disrupt  a  family 
of  a  mother  and  four  children.  But  money  is  in  honor 
bound  to  speak  for  and  not  against  a  family. 

With  the  avarice  of  one  whose  soul  has  too  long  been 
starved  of  its  needs,  Sarah  took  to  the  making  of  money. 
As  the  first  deposit  of  one  hundred  dollars  in  the  bank 
was  swelled  by  a  second  hundred  dollars  and  this  by  a 
third,  she  was  spurred  on  to  lash  herself  and  her  chil- 
dren into  ever  greater  activity  in  the  bands'  business. 

Cutting,  wiring,  counting,  packing,  and  selling  filled  the 
days.  On  no  pretext  was  a  child  exempt  from  the  daily 
duty  assigned  to  it.  Sarah  stood  over  her  offspring  em- 
ployees with  an  insistence  verging  on  mania.  If  a  child 
said  it  was  ill,  Sarah  sensed  pretense ;  in  the  claim  that 
school  lessons  must  be  studied  she  saw  only  an  attempt 
to  shirk.  The  bands  had  to  be  manufactured  above  all. 

"Do  you  want  to  go  back  to  Henry  Street?  Do  you 
want  to  be  thrown  out  even  of  a  cellar?  Do  you  want 
to  go  to  the  Charities?  Another  time  you  will  go.  I 
have  done  enough  for  you."  So  she  would  shout  down 
their  other  interests.  Her  vulgarity  and  aggressiveness 
cowed  them  into  capitulation. 

Five  years  had  passed  since  Ida  appropriated  Mira's 

187 


1 88  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

sample.  The  family  now  occupied  a  five-room  flat  on 
Third  Street,  the  East  Side's  Up  Town  of  those  days. 
The  largest  bedroom  had  been  converted  into  a  work- 
shop. At  one  end  mouldy,  dusty  buckram  was  piled  to 
the  ceiling,  buckram  that  Sarah  had  purchased  at  a  bar- 
gain from  a  small  dealer  for  a  sum  far  below  what  the 
regular  buckram  dealers  charged,  and  as  it  served  her 
purpose  she  took  much  pride  in  the  discovery.  "It  would 
be  mighty  well  for  you,"  she  often  boasted  to  the  chil- 
dren, "if  you  took  after  your  mother  in  resourcefulness." 
The  sill  of  the  bespattered  window  in  the  room  was 
stacked  with  wire ;  the  floor  was  littered  with  pieces  of 
waste  buckram,  wire,  thread,  paper  and  rolling  wads  of 
dust.  Amid  the  chaos  the  children  sat  on  homely  wooden 
chairs  with  their  backs  bent,  their  faces  sweaty  and  be- 
smirched. Immediately  after  school,  began  the  session 
for  work,  and  it  continued  far  into  the  night.  Saturdays, 
Sundays,  and  holidays  were  distinguished  by  even  longer 
hours  of  toil.  They  cut,  they  sewed,  they  counted  and 
tied.  At  first  they  cut  with  inadequate  shears  and  sewed 
by  hand;  then  Sarah  invested  in  sharper  shears  and  a 
labor-saving  machine.  Though  the  children  expected  re- 
lief from  these  innovations,  none  came,  for  Sarah  in- 
sisted on  a  greater  output. 

Indeed,  soon  they  came  to  feel  they  had  a  "regular 
boss,"  not  a  mother ;  that  their  new  and  more  spacious 
abode  was  not  a  home  but  a  "regular  shop,"  Jacob,  a 
"regular  operator,"  and  the  girls  "regular  shop  girls."  If 
they  complained  when  Sarah  happened  to  be  in  a  tender 
mood  she  reasoned  with  them :  "Kinderlech,  money  is  an 
indispensable  crutch  in  this  world;  without  it  you  walk 
lame  and  everybody  can  come  along  and  throw  you  over. 
That  costs  blood.  Oh,  how  they  spill  your  blood!  If 


BANDS  189 

by  sweating  a  little  you  can  walk  firm  on  two  feet,  isn't 
it  worth  while?  Come,  don't  be  children.  Listen  to 
reason." 


XL 


Sarah's  patrons  included  a  Mrs.  Tannenbaum,  who 
was  well  acquainted  with  the  millinery  trade.  Sympa- 
thizing with  Sarah  in  her  valiant  struggle,  she  kept  her 
informed  of  Mira's  doings,  of  advance  fashions,  of  new 
competitors,  in  fact,  of  all  happenings  in  the  small  hat- 
dealers'  world. 

"There  is  a  new  man  in  the  feather  end  come  in  from 
Chicago,"  she  announced  one  day. 

Sarah  received  the  news  with  lukewarm  interest.  Her 
own  specialty  could  not  be  affected  by  the  intruder. 
Later  in  their  talk  Mrs.  Tannenbaum  referred  to  the 
man  as  a  Mr.  Pollack.  Sarah  startled,  remained  silent 
a  perceptible  moment,  then  asked  for  his  first  name. 

"Leopold." 

Could  it  possibly  be  Leopold  Pollack  of  Memel,  the 
tall,  thin,  sensitive  Leopold  Pollack  of  her  girlhood,  her 
free-thinker  lover?  The  question  dived  through  her 
heart  like  a  swallow,  in  its  downward  sweep  casting  aside 
all  of  the  sordid  past  that  stood  between  them,  and  in  its 
upward  flight  raising  a  full  realization  of  a  personal  life 
closed  and  done  with  forever.  A  lump  rose  in  Sarah's 
throat.  She  dropped  her  eyes,  and  sighed. 

But  how  could  Leopold  Pollack  have  been  in  America 
long  enough  to  go  into  business  without  her  knowing  it? 
To  Sarah,  business  followed  only  upon  a  long  preliminary 
struggle.  Mrs.  Tannenbaum's  description  of  Leopold 
Pollack,  however,  agreed,  on  the  whole,  with  the  appear- 


190  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

ance  of  the  man  she  knew ;  and  she  was  inclined  rather 
to  believe  it  was  he. 

"I  knew  him  when  I  was  a  girl,"  she  finally  remarked, 
to  explain  her  interest. 

"You  knew  him  when  you  were  a  girl?  Wouldn't  it 
be  a  joke  if  it  were  really  he?  And  how  funny  I  men- 
tioned him!"  Mrs.  Tannenbaum  chuckled.  "It's  some- 
times the  queerest  thing  how  life  works."  She  was 
keenly  interested  in  the  possible  development  of  the  ro- 
mantic episode. 

Sarah,  for  days,  went  about  her  work  abstractedly, 
living  over  again  scenes  of  her  girlhood.  She  was  listen- 
ing to  Leopold  preaching  atheism  to  her  as  they  walked 
together  in  the  woods,  and  anon  he  was  kissing  her,  prais- 
ing her  gray  eyes. 

She  would  wrench  herself  away  from  these  memories, 
angry  with  herself  for  her  sentimentality,  and  force  her 
mind  to  work  in  its  usual  way,  in  the  way  that  took  only 
the  children  into  account,  their  education  which  was  to 
insure  them  against  economic  stress  such  as  she  had 
known  and  make  them  what  she  had  not  been  able  to  be. 
As  for  her  own  life,  it  was  to  be  over  with  when  these 
duties  were  accomplished.  Her  lot  was  to  work  up  the 
business  for  the  children's  sake.  But  mixed  with  her 
thoughts  was  a  vague  disapprobation  of  the  scheme  of 
things,  by  which  personal  happiness,  personal  satisfac- 
tion in  living  were  made  impossible.  She  would  compare 
her  life  to  a  desert — a  stretch  of  nothingness,  barren  of 
all  joyousness,  desolate,  except  for  a  burning  passion  for 
the  mountain  heights  of  attainment. 

In  the  meantime  her  millinery  friend  was  working  be- 
hind the  scenes. 

As  Sarah  stepped  into  Mrs.  Tannenbaum's  store  one 


BANDS  191 

day,  she  came  face  to  face  with  Leopold.  The  world  lost 
its  reality  and  for  a  moment  Sarah  was  bereft  of  her  fac- 
ulties. Her  bag  fell  to  the  floor  from  her  limp  hand ;  she 
entwined  her  fingers  as  in  prayer ;  tears  gushed  to  her 
eyes. 

"Leopold !"    It  was  like  a  cry  out  of  the  dark. 

A  moment  of  profound  silence,  then  the  man,  who  had 
perceptibly  aged  and  grown  thinner,  stepped  forward, 
his  sensitive  lips  quivering  as  he  took  Sarah  into  his 
arms. 

"Sarah !    For  God's  sake,  Sarah !" 

Eagerly  they  interrogated  each  other.  When  had  he 
come  to  America?  How  was  it  he  had  not  let  her  know 
of  his  coming?  Surely  some  mutual  acquaintance  would 
have  given  him  her  address.  How  had  he,  too,  hap- 
pened to  go  into  the  millinery  business? 

Leopold  satisfactorily  answered  all  her  questions. 

When  had  she  come  to  America?  How  had  Elias 
fared?  Dead!  Four  children ?  Had  she  had  a  struggle ? 

Leopold  Pollack  had  begun  life  equipped  with  ideals 
which  he  had  discarded  in  the  shuffle.  To  the  man  who 
does  not  start  out  on  a  smooth  platform  already  pre- 
pared for  him,  ideals  may  be  a  leaden  encumbrance: 
at  least  Leopold  found  them  so.  Six  years  before,  he  had 
left  Memel  for  South  Africa  where  rich  relatives  had 
taken  him  into  their  narrow  environment,  and  to  fit  into 
it  he  had  been  obliged  to  cramp  his  wings.  Several  years 
of  discontent  resolved  him  to  quit.  He  came  to  America, 
where  he  tried  his  hand  at  customer-peddling,  insurance, 
and  what  not.  Just  now,  through  a  friend's  "lift,"  he 
was  endeavoring  to  set  himself  up  if  the  feather  busi- 
ness. His  ideals  were  now  replaced  by  a  warm  cynicism 
as  to  the  greater  advantages  accruing  the  poor  man  in  one 


192  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

land  as  against  another  land;  to  be  poor,  he  was  con- 
vinced, was  hell  in  the  old  country — to  be  poor  was  hell 
in  the  new  country. 

Sarah's  feelings  blended  with  his;  her  heart  wanned 
with  a  sense  of  kinship  for  him  and  with  gratification  at 
the  similarity  in  their  development. 

When  they  finally  parted,  Leopold  walked  away,  feel- 
ing strangely  young  again.  His  step  was  brisker,  his 
whole  manner  more  alert.  Sarah's  eager  interest  in  him, 
which  she  felt  too  greatly  to  mask,  had  fed  his  vanity. 
It  had  come  like  a  fresh  breeze  in  a  sultry  night,  scatter- 
ing the  clouds  of  his  cynicism.  Sarah  was  not  the  girl 
he  loved  years  ago,  nevertheless  she  was  a  comely 
woman ;  in  fact,  he  found  himself  thinking  she  had  im- 
proved with  the  years. 

She  was,  indeed,  a  very  different  Sarah  from  the  Sarah 
of  the  Charities  work-room.  In  her  well-made,  tailored 
suit  she  presented  a  fine  full  figure.  Her  neglected  body 
had  received  the  physician's  and  dentist's  care ;  the  former 
had  rid  her  of  her  vermiform  appendix,  and,  by  the  lat- 
ter's  art,  her  cheeks  were  no  longer  sunken.  She  radiated 
freshness  and  vivacity  and  might  have  been  taken  for  a 
woman  of  not  more  than  thirty  years. 

As  the  incidents  of  the  meeting  revolved  in  Leopold's 
mind,  the  love  that  had  waned  but  had  never  been  ex- 
tinguished in  his  heart  began  to  smoulder  afresh.  As  he 
recalled  their  youthful  clandestine  meetings,  an  old  void, 
which  no  other  woman  had  ever  filled,  was  pricked  into 
existence  again.  Sarah  was  a  widow.  Perhaps  the  dream 
of  his  youth  might  still  be  realized.  Who  knew!  Leo- 
pold shrugged  his  shoulders.  The  thought,  "She  even  has 
a  successful  hat-bands'  business,"  came  to  his  mind  and 
was  swiftly  dismissed.  He  himelf  had  not  been  success- 


BANDS  193 

ful ;  he  did  not  seem  to  be  cut  out  for  the  sordid  business 
of  buying  and  selling.  He  could  not  go  about  wearing 
the  salesman's  ready-made  smile,  simulating  affability, 
dancing  attendance  on  customers.  He  had  not  the  trades- 
man's nature,  and  being  a  man  he  could  not,  like  Sarah, 
adapt  himself,  the  gift  of  adaptability  being  divinely 
vested  in  women. 

Ruminating  thus  upon  his  flaccid  career,  he  drifted 
into  melancholy  and  regrets.  Who  could  tell — had  life 
not  wrenched  Sarah  from  him,  how  different  it  all  might 
have  been!  He  sighed.  In  an  effort  to  shake  off  his 
oppressive  feelings,  he  walked  more  rapidly,  saying  to 
himself: 

"Wednesday,  Thursday,  Friday — three  more  days  until 
we  see  each  other  again." 

XLI 

"Mama  said  a  hundred  times  you  shouldn't  give  the 
full  gross,"  Ida  insisted. 

Minnie,  drawing  herself  up,  replied  defiantly: 

"I  don't  care  what  mama  says.  If  I  count  I  am  going 
to  count  a  full  gross  for  each  package.  She  isn't  going 
to  boss  me  about  that.  If  you  want  to  skin,  go  ahead." 

"Listen  to  that  disgusting  thing.    Calls  mama  a  skin !" 

Beckie  (Bubbele  of  old)  turned  her  head  away  from 
the  machine  over  which  she  sat  bent. 

"Oh,  stop  fighting.  You  make  me  sick,"  she  called,  and 
busied  herself  again  over  the  machine. 

Minnie  and  Ida  eyed  each  other  like  game-cocks. 
Then,  as  if  better  thoughts  had  come,  they  went  on  count- 
ing the  bands. 

Minnie's  lips  moved  and  articulated:  "Hundred  forty- 


194  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

three,  hundred  forty- four."  She  had  counted  the  full 
gross  loud  enough  to  be  heard.  "For  spite,"  was  Ida's 
interpretation.  Anger  born  of  dislike  swelled  her  heart. 
The  two  girls  were  always  at  daggers'  drawn.  Ida,  will- 
ingly unscrupulous,  felt  she  was  carrying  out  her  moth- 
er's orders,  while  Minnie  was  exaggeratedly  scrupulous 
because  she  could  not  be  otherwise.  And  Ida  saw  spite 
in  it,  and  the  affectation  of  a  "high-tone  lady."  She 
dashed  the  batch  of  bands  from  Minnie's  hands  and  sent 
them  scattering  to  the  floor.  The  two  confronted  each 
other  belligerently. 

At  this  juncture  the  door  opened  and  Sarah  entered. 
She  was  returning  from  a  long  day's  selling,  tired  and 
hot  and  perspiring.  With  the  quick  perception  that  time 
had  cultivated,  she  noted  that  her  daughters  were  quar- 
reling. She  sighed  wearily. 

"Mama,"  shrieked  Ida,  "I'm  not  going  to  work  with 
her  any  more." 

Sarah  asked  no  questions.  Minnie's  eyes  scornfully 
regarded  her  sister. 

"Go  on,  tell!"  she  cried.  "Maybe  mama'll  kill  me." 
Tears  of  impotence  gathered  in  her  eyes.  As  in  child- 
hood, Minnie  was  still  singularly  lacking  in  controversial 
weapons  of  self-defense.  Under  attack  her  mind  refused 
to  function,  and  speech  failed  her.  But  when  she  knew 
she  was  right,  she  firmly,  even  if  silently,  held  her  ground. 
Her  part  in  the  family  quarrels  rarely  extended  beyond 
her  refusal  to  carry  out  orders  that  were  opposed  to  her 
principles.  Unable  to  say  more  and  unwilling  to  lose 
her  self-control  in  their  presence,  she  dropped  the  few 
bands  in  her  hands  and  left  the  room. 

She  walked  into  the  parlor,  the  room  that  chiefly  be- 
spoke the  Mendels'  affluence,  with  its  suite  of  green  plush 


BANDS  195 

furniture,  long  looking-glass,  pink  silk  tidy  over  the  man- 
telpiece, green  plush  album,  rose-patterned  rug,  stiff 
Nottingham  lace  curtains,  and  crudely  colored,  hand- 
painted  portraits  of  Elias  and  Sarah's  departed  parents. 
Flinging  herself  into  a  rocking-chair,  Minnie  indulged  in 
a  brief  shower  of  tears,  then  sat  pondering  on  the  sor- 
didness  of  their  family  life  and  wondering  why  her 
mother  had  not,  as  usual,  reprimanded  her. 

The  reason  was  that  Sarah  had  keenly  detected  that 
this  was  a  quarrel  about  one  of  those  points  on  which 
Minnie  was  inflexible;  she  had  long  ago  decided  that 
when  it  came  to  a  question  of  real  loyalty  Minnie  was 
not  to  be  depended  upon;  never  would  she  give  a 'short 
count,  never  would  she  substitute  the  poorer  grade  of 
buckram  for  the  better.  Sarah  had  often  sighed  re- 
signedly as  does  a  housewife  who,  finding  one  decayed 
apple  in  her  purchase  of  a  quantity  of  otherwise  excellent 
fruit,  concludes  to  accept  the  bargain  and  not  to  hold  it 
against  the  dealer. 

This  time,  furthermore,  feeling  it  was  more  expedient 
to  propitiate  Minnie,  she  followed  her  to  the  front  room. 

"I  bought  you  a  waist." 

Minnie  turned  to  face  her  mother  standing  in  the  door. 

"Yes?" 

Only  that  morning  had  Minnie  complained  that  her 
one  waist  was  out  at  the  elbows,  and  here  her  mother 
had  already  bought  her  another  waist!  The  girl,  who 
had  not  expected  such  prompt  attention  to  her  need,  was 
toucBed. 

"Try  it  on." 

While  Minnie  untied  the  parcel,  Ida  and  Beckie  saun- 
tered in.  A  new  garment  for  any  member  of  the  family, 
even  after  a  rumpus,  was  a  matter  of  general  interest. 


196  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Minnie  went  to  the  pier  glass,  took  off  the  waist  she  was 
wearing  and  put  on  the  new  one,  of  a  dark  red  flannel 
with  straight  up  and  down  rows  of  black  soutache  trim- 
ming ;  exactly  to  Minnie's  taste.  She  was  about  to  fasten 
it  when  Beckie  stepped  forward,  raised  Minnie's  arm 
and  said:  "It's  damaged,  I  think."  "It  is,"  agreed  Ida. 
Sarah  had  bought  the  waist  for  twenty-nine  cents !  From 
the  way  she  inspected  it  now  one  would  have  inferred 
that  the  stain  on  the  sleeve  was  a  surprise  to  her. 

"I  can't  wear  it,"  said  Minnie,  quickly  slipping  it  off. 
She  tossed  it  toward  a  chair,  but  it  missed  the  mark  and 
fell  to  the  floor.  Sarah  was  enraged.  Not  only  had  she 
failed  to  palm  the  waist  off  on  Minnie,  but  she  also  de- 
tected, she  thought,  scorn  of  her  thrift.  Snatching  the 
waist  from  the  floor,  she  waved  it  as  if  to  strike 
Minnie. 

"You  ungrateful  worm,  you,  it  doesn't  suit  you?" 

The  retort  came  so  quickly  that  Minnie,  wholly  un- 
prepared, was  frightened,  all  the  more  so  when,  glancing 
into  the  looking-glass,  she  caught  sight  of  her  mother's 
distorted  face.  Without  replying,  she  picked  up  her  old 
waist  and  began  to  put  it  on.  Her  seeming  unconcern 
added  to  Sarah's  fury. 

"You  unappreciative  pig,  you,"  she  cried.  "I  walked 
with  blisters  on  my  feet  to  get  you  a  red  waist,  as  you 
said  you  wanted,  and  now  when  I  bring  it,  you  throw  it 
in  my  face." 

This  distorting  of  the  fact,  as  well  as  the  implication 
that  the  waist  was  unearned,  sent  a  wave  of  deep  re- 
sentment through  Minnie  and  loosened  her  tongue  for 
the  moment. 

"Don't  I  work?"  she  exploded. 


BANDS  197 

"Work!  All  great  big  lumps  like  you  work.  What 
then — a  mother  should  support  you?  But  do  you  ever 
do  more  than  you  have  to  for  the  business,  like  the  other 
children?"  Sarah  stopped  for  want  of  breath;  however, 
her  manner  foretold  there  was  more  to  come.  "It  will 
soon  all  end,"  she  added,  stressing  each  word  with  a  pe- 
culiar intonation  that  struck  all  of  them.  Beckie,  look- 
ing up  in  surprise,  asked : 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  mother,  stalking  out  of  the 
room,  "it — will — soon — all — end !" 

"What  do  you  think  she  means?"  Beckie  whispered  to 
Ida.  Ida  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Minnie  turned  to  the 
glass  to  finish  dressing.  The  two  girls  went  back  to  the 
work-room. 

Minnie  peered  at  her  reflection.  The  glare  of  anger 
lingered  in  her  large  gray  eyes  under  which  the  dark  rings 
had  deepened.  She  was  paler  than  usual  and  looked 
troubled  and  unhappy.  A  lump  stuck  in  her  throat. 

"You're  sick  of  this,"  she  communed  with  her  image 
in  the  glass.  "You'll  give  up  high  school  and  go  to  work 
in  an  office.  .  .  .  Maybe  you'll  even  make  enough  money 
to  give  Jacob  a  little  every  week  so  he  won't  have  to 
take  from  her.  .  .  .  It's  always  the  bank,  the  bank !  We 
don't  count.  .  .  .  Buys  a  fire-stained  waist  on  Baxter 
Street.  All  the  girls  at  high  school  look  nice.  I  should 
look  like  a  beggar !  .  .  .  I  don't  do  as  much  for  the  busi- 
ness as  the  others  because — I  don't  cheat.  They  make  me 
sick."' 

She  dried  her  eyes,  finished  dressing,  arranged  her  hair 
a  little  more  becomingly,  then  went  into  the  adjoining 
room. 


198  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Jacob  entered, 
accompanied  by  another  young  man — Abie  Ratkin. 

XLII 

At  the  beginning  of  a  new  term  in  the  College  of  the 
City  of  New  York,  Jacob  Mendel  had  several  times  dur- 
ing roll-call  wondered,  half  unwillingly,  when  he  heard 
Abraham  Ratkin's  name:  "Can  that  be  Abie  Ratkin  of 
Henry  Street?"  And  Abraham  Ratkin  had  wondered 
freely:  "Can  that  be  Minnie  Mendel's  brother?"  Finally 
Abraham  decided  to  note  carefully  whose  deep-voiced 
"present"  came  in  response  to  "Jacob  Mendel."  At  the 
end  of  the  session  he  looked  up  his  new  classmate.  Im- 
mediately they  recognized  each  other,  and  enjoyed  a  self- 
conscious,  yet  wholesome  laugh  together. 

"See  you  at  the  end  of  the  classes,"  said  Abraham. 

"All  right." 

As  they  walked  out  of  the  college  building  that  after- 
noon Jacob  asked  Abraham  to  come  home  with  him,  as- 
suring him  the  family  would  be  glad  to  see  him.  Abra- 
ham, curious  about  Minnie,  and  as  it  was  not  out  of  his 
way  to  his  own  home,  accepted. 

"Well,  I'll  be  jiggered!"  cried  Minnie,  with  a  light 
laugh.  "If  it  isn't  Abie  Ratkin !" 

Abraham  .eddened  and  stood  for  a  moment  fascinated. 
In  contrast  with  the  only  women  he  knew,  his  plain,  sober 
mother  and  sisters,  Minnie  appeared  like  a  baffling 
enigma.  This  Minnie  standing  before  him  with  her  head 
thrown  gracefully  back  on  a  long  white  neck  was  not  the 
Minnie  of  Henry  Street!  Though  Minnie  had  regular 
features,  her  charm  lay  rather  in  some  subtle,  haunting 
expression  in  her  eyes,  which  were  now  alight  with  pleas- 


BANDS  199 

ure.  Unlike  his  mother's  and  sisters',  her  voice  was  low 
and  musical ;  her  manner  soft  and  modest. 

Hesitating  only  an  instant,  he  approached  and  held  out 
his  hand  as  he  joined  in  her  laughter  with  a  self-con- 
scious, broad  smile. 

"Ma !  Beck !  Ida !"  Minnie  called  excitedly.  "Guess 
who's  here!  You'll  never  guess  who's  here." 

The  sudden  amicable  summons  brought  them  quickly, 
all  agog. 

"Nu,  mem  Gott,  Abie  Ratkin!"  Sarah  cried:  the  two 
girls  echoed  her  astonishment. 

By  a  little  coaxing  he  was  prevailed  upon  to  join 
them  in  a  feast  of  tea,  cookies,  and  jam. 

"What  is  the  news  with  your  family?"  Sarah  asked 
with  peculiar  eagerness. 

Abraham,  still  confused  by  the  cordial  reception  and 
the  unexpected,  insistent  invitation,  permitted  himself  a 
moment  in  which  to  collect  his  thoughts. 

"Well,"  he  began,  "let's  see.  My  uncle,  mama's 
brother,  has  taken  very  good  care  of  us  all  these  years. 
My  sisters  are  both  grown  up  and  go  to  high  school,  and 
I  go  to  college."  Here  he  coughed  over  a  crumb  in  his 
throat.  Sarah,  in  constrained  expectancy,  awaited  what 
he  had  to  say  next.  Had  his  mother  married  again? 
That  was  what  she  wanted  to  know.  The  question  of  re- 
marriage had  been  much  in  her  mind  of  late.  Leopold 
Pollack  was  courting  her ;  and  when  the  children  seemed 
to  be  impervious  to  her  discipline,  marriage  to  Leopold 
held  a  promise  of  the  best  solution.  It  was  this  refuge 
she  had  had  in  mind  when  an  hour  earlier  she  had  cried : 
"It  will  soon  all  end."  The  children,  she  felt  at  trying 
times,  needed  a  man's  discipline;  she  herself  must  be  re- 
lieved ;  sewing,  selling,  managing  all  the  details  of  a 


200  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

home  and  a  business  were  too  much  for  one  woman ; 
and  Leopold  was  right  when  he  urged  these  con- 
siderations upon  her.  His  persuasive  powers  were 
bringing  her  closer  and  closer  to  yielding.  She  even  de- 
luded herself  into  the  belief  that  it  was  chiefly  these  con- 
siderations which  were  influencing  her  decision  and  not 
her  heart's  desire.  Leopold  that  very  day  had  been  most 
persistent  in  his  suit. 

"So  your  mother  never  married  again?"  asked  Sarah, 
looking  away  as  if  she  intended  that  he  alone  should  hear 
her  question. 

Abraham  had  a  boy's  pride  in  his  mother.  She  had 
adapted  herself  gracefully  to  well-being,  managed  a  ser- 
vant with  dignity,  ran  an  orderly,  comfortable  home,  and 
dressed  in  good  style. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said,  "why  should  she  marry  again  ?  She 
is  happy  just  with  us.  You  ought  to  see  her.  She  looks 
fine." 

The  boy,  Sarah  thought  jealously,  spoke  with  more 
enthusiasm  of  his  mother  than  her  children  did  of  her, 
although  she  had  slaved  ten  times  harder  for  them. 
Small  wonder  that  Abie's  mother  was  happy.  Perhaps 
had  she  had  to  manage  all  these  years  on  her  own  ca- 
pacity for  work,  she  would  not  have  found  it  so  easy  to 
remain  without  the  protection  of  a  man.  But,  as  always 
when  Sarah  tried  to  argue  herself  into  justifying  her 
marriage  with  Leopold,  another  and  a  finer  impulse  held 
her  back — fear  that  harm  might  result  for  her  children. 

As  the  girls  conversed  with  Abraham,  she  listened  ab- 
stractedly;  her  mind  drifting  to  gray  pictures  of  the  time 
when  the  girls  would  be  grown  and  have  beaux,  and 
Jacob  would  have  his  sweetheart.  The  business  would 
then  devolve  even  more  heavily  upon  her;  and  later, 


BANDS  201 

when  they  would  leave  to  establish  homes  of  their  own. 
she  would  be  lonely — left  alone — that  would  be  her  re- 
ward. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  Abraham  laughingly 
called  to  her,  with  a  shy  glance  at  Minnie  for  her  ap- 
proval of  his  jocularity. 

Sarah  dropped  her  eyes.  It  was  as  though  Abie's 
mother  with  her  old  critical  attitude  were  sitting  there 
prying  into  her  heart.  "She  would  be  ready  to  spit 
upon  me  as  a  wicked  woman,"  passed  through  Sarah's 
mind.  She  felt  ashamed,  and  selfish.  In  an  impulsive 
desire  to  redeem  herself,  she  coaxed  Minnie,  as  if  no 
altercation  had  occurred  between  them,  to  eat  more  cook- 
ies and  put  more  milk  in  her  tea.  The  blue  rings  under 
her  daughter's  eyes  cut  the  mother  to  the  heart. 

"How  do  you  think  my  girls  look?"  she  asked  Abra- 
ham with  assumed  gaiety. 

Abraham  laughingly  proclaimed  them  all  "beauties." 

Beckie  was  a  really  lovely  little  girl,  with  shining  blue 
eyes  and  curving  baby  lips  that  seemed  always  to  say 
"kiss  me,  come  kiss  me."  Ida,  though  the  stamp  of  ill- 
nature  was  impressed  on  her  face,  had  a  curious 
piquancy.  Her  greatest  beauty  was  her  wealth  of  golden 
hair.  Sarah,  who  knew  her  children  were  not  cast  in 
the  ordinary  mould,  enjoyed  an  unspoken  pride  in 
them. 

"But  you,"  said  Abraham,  "you  are  so  much  better- 
looking.  I  would  never  have  known  you." 

Sarah  flushed;  she  made  no  reply.  She  was  pleased; 
but  at  the  same  time  she  was  hurt  that  her  own  children 
had  never  remarked  on  her  improved  appearance.  Leo- 
pold had  complimented  her  many  times.  If  only  her 
children  were  a  little  proud,  a  little  fond  of  their  mother, 


202  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

she  might  find  greater  joy  in  living  for  them  alone.  She 
drew  a  deep  sigh. 

Soon  Abraham  rose  to  leave.  Shaking  hands  with 
Minnie,  he  asked,  with  awkward  facetiousness,  if  she 
wished  to  be  called  Miss  Mendel  or  Mildred.  She  pre- 
ferred plain  Minnie.  They  laughed,  while  their  young 
hearts  fluttered  with  the  self -consciousness  of  adoles- 
cence. 

"Never  would  I  have  thought  he  would  grow  into  such 
a  nice  young  man,"  commented  Sarah  when  Abraham 
had  gone.  But  for  the  timorous,  self-depreciative  mood 
into  which  the  visitor  from  the  past  had  cast  her,  she 
would  have  told  her  son  that  he  ought  to  speak  as  ap- 
preciatingly  of  her  as  Abraham  had  spoken  of  his  mother. 

XLIII 

This  visit  was  followed  by  others,  but  never  again  did 
Abraham  find  the  family  ready  to  entertain  him  at  the 
tea-table.  They  remained  in  the  work-room,  harassed, 
quarreling.  After  the  first  two  or  three  visits  formality 
was  discarded ;  he  became  again  the  Abie  of  Henry  Street, 
in  whose  presence  it  was  not  necessary  even  to  keep  the 
current  of  irritation  under  cover.  Remembering  their 
quarrelsomeness  of  the  old  days,  Abraham  marveled  that 
they  had  not  yet  outgrown  it.  With  the  exception  of 
Minnie  who,  though  she  often  raised  her  voice  above  the 
others,  seemed  to  be  just,  they  all  annoyed  him.  And 
Minnie,  he  felt,  ought  not  to  be  argumentative.  It  would 
have  pleased  him  far  better  had  she  held  herself  in  dig- 
nified silence.  But  he  never  could  muster  sufficient  cour- 
age to  tell  her  so. 

After  a  time  he  resented  his  interest  in  the  Mendel s. 


BANDS  203 

When  he  should  have  been  concentrating  on  his  studies, 
he  found  himself  drifting  off  to  thoughts  of  them;  he 
would  chide  himself  for  bothering  about  other  people's 
affairs.  Yet  he  continued  to  call. 

One  Saturday,  as  he  passed  by  their  home,  he  casually 
dropped  in.  His  knock  at  the  door  was  answered  by 
Minnie,  who  was  at  home  alone.  She  had  been  lying 
on  the  lounge  reading  Silas  Marner,  so  absorbed  and 
rapt  that  she  had  to  bring  herself  back  as  from  another 
world,  and  was  still  dazed  when  she  faced  him  at  the 
door,  and  stared  unknowingly.  Then,  in  slight  embar- 
rassment, putting  her  hands  up  to  her  tumbling  hair,  she 
smiled  and  asked  him  in.  Abraham,  who  swiftly  took  in 
that  no  one  else  was  at  home,  said  he  wouldn't  stay.  "Ah, 
do,"  pleaded  Minnie. 

"I've  been  reading  Silas  Marner,"  she  said,  after 
they  were  seated,  "and  I  was  so  absorbed — I  felt  all  con- 
fused when  the  bell  rang." 

He  smiled  pleased  approval  of  her  reading. 

"Have  you  read  Silas  Marner,  too?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"Did  you  like  it?" 

"It  is  one  of  the  purest  gems  of  fiction." 

Though  Minnie  did  not  quite  grasp  the  meaning  of  his 
pedantic  reply,  she  was  happy  nevertheless  to  have  some- 
one to  talk  to  about  things  other  than  hat-bands — about 
something  that  really  interested  her.  She  plied  him  with 
a  multitude  of  questions. 

Whom  did  he  like  best,  George  Eliot,  Dickens  or 
Thackeray?  What  reading  was  required  at  college? 
Here  she  sighed.  Would  she  ever  find  time  to  read  so 
much?  Did  Latin  become  easier  or  harder  as  you  went 
on  ?  She  was  just  beginning  Caesar ;  it  was  terribly  hard. 


204  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

It  would  come  easier?  That  was  good.  Did  one  ever 
learn  to  read  Latin  as  easily  as  English?  What  course 
was  he  taking?  Science?  What  did  he  expect  to  be- 
come? A  teacher!  Minnie  looked  at  him,  half  smiling, 
and  meeting  an  answering  smile,  wondered  whether  he 
remembered  her  childish  proviso.  She  couldn't  tell.  She 
dropped  her  eyes. 

All  her  further  questions  concerned  his  personal  expe- 
riences and  ambitions.  She  received  his  confidences  with 
the  absorption  of  one  drinking  from  a  fount  of  wisdom ; 
and  the  subtle  flattery  of  her  manner  gave  him  extreme 
pleasure.  His  heart  swelled  with  pride  and  he  flushed. 

That  evening  he  found  it  impossible  to  concentrate  on 
his  studies.  Pictures  of  Minnie  blotted  out  the  printed 
page.  The  quiet  and  the  Sabbath  cleanliness  of  the  home 
had  added  an  impressiveness  to  her  personality.  Her 
girlhood  somehow  seemed  to  have  been  vivified.  She  dis- 
turbed his  peace  of  mind.  For  days  he  went  about  pen- 
sive, silent,  struggling.  Finally,  one  night,  after  an  ear- 
nest debate  with  himself,  the  student  won  out.  His 
marks  would  suffer  from  such  distractions — he  would 
never,  never  see  Minnie  again. 

Abie's  renewal  of  friendship  with  the  Mendels  had 
caused  Mrs.  Ratkin  many  a  restless  night  upon  her  hair 
mattress.  Such  things  had  been  known  to  happen — child- 
hood friends  married.  Abie  ought  to  look  higher.  He 
himself  had  told  her  the  family  still  quarreled.  How 
profoundly  she  hoped  it  would  not  happen !  It  would  be 
such  a  come-down — Henry  Street  all  over  again.  When 
Abraham  seemed  to  have  stopped  calling  she  felt  like 
one  reborn.  But  she  would  make  quite  certain — and  she 
would  know  the  reason  why  as  well. 

"They  are  very  nice  children,"  (she  had  visited  them 


BANDS  205 

once)  "why  don't  you  go?"  she  asked,  cleverly  hitting 
upon  the  one  ruse  that  was  sure  to  draw  her  son  out. 
She  watched  him  closely.  He  dropped  his  eyes. 

"I  don't  like  them,  they  quarrel,"  he  said  with  a  surge 
of  irritation,  eager  to  evade  talk  on  the  subject. 

Mrs.  Ratkin  was  grateful  and  happy.  It  is  ever  thus 
with  the  mothers  of  men  when  the  Minnies  begin  their 

shadow-dance. 

****** 

Minnie,  busy  with  her  lessons  and  the  bands,  gave  no 
serious  thought  to  Abraham's  sudden  neglect.  But  the 
others  made  conjectures. 

"Did  you  ask  him  again  ?"  they  inquired  of  Jacob. 

Yes,  he  had,  but  Abraham  had  so  persistently  refused 
that  he  had  ceased  to  ask  him. 

"It's  because  every  time  he  came  there  was  a  fight,". 
Beckie  was  sure.  One  blamed  the  other. 

To  Sarah  the  end  of  Abraham's  visits  marked  the  end 
of  a  period  of  self-torture.  He  had  seemed  to  point  a 
steady  finger  of  warning.  When  Mrs.  Ratkin  had  come 
to  pay  her  single  visit,  Sarah  was  roused  to  such  a  vivid 
consciousness  of  the  torrent  of  nasty  criticism  that  would 
flow  round  her  were  she  to  defy  the  conventions  set  for 
respectable  motherhood  that  she  cast  aside  the  thought 
of  remarriage,  yet  held  on,  as  it  were,  by  one  finger. 
Then,  when  weeks  passed  with  no  reminder  from  the 
outside  world  to  dog  her,  she  once  more  breathed 
freely. 

XLIV 

"You  are!"  cried  Minnie,  in  whose  heart  and  memory 
her  father  lived  ever  sacred. 

The  mother   faced  her  children,  pale  and  quivering, 


206  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

yet  with  an  outward  show  of  self-confidence  and  dignity. 
Sfie  had  just  informed  them  that  she  would  soon  bring 
the  regular  visitor,  upon  whom  they  had  looked  as  only 
"mama's  friend  from  Europe,"  to  take  their  father's 
place  in  the  home. 

Jacob,  at  once,  saw  a  home  full  of  "new"  children. 
He  shuddered,  turned  color,  rose  from  his  chair,  threw 
his  mother  an  inquiring  glance  as  if  unable  to  compre- 
hend her  boldness,  and  scampered  out  of  the  house.  He 
hated  to  confront  complications,  he  hated  controversies, 
he  hated  neighbors. 

Sarah  refrained  from  evincing  resentment.  Her  heart 
demanded  that  her  children  kiss  her,  congratulate  her, 
be  glad  that  she  might  at  last  get  her  measure  of  happi- 
ness. But  in  a  minor  key  her  heart  also  cried :  "They 
are  only  children,  they  do  not  understand  anything  ex- 
cept what  concerns  themselves. 

"Yes,  children,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  unsteady  voice,  re- 
peating what  she  had  rehearsed  over  and  over  again,  "I 
am  a  woman,  alone.  I  have  worked  hard  for  you.  I 
am  getting  older.  You  are  getting  older.  You  will  go 
your  own  way  soon.  I  will  be  left  alone.  When  you 
reach  my  age,  you  will  understand."  Feeling  self-control 
slipping  from  her,  she  swallowed  hard.  "I  have  known 
Leopold  Pollack  from  girlhood — long  before  I  knew  your 
father.  He  will  be  good  to  you — treat  you  as  his  own 
children — if  you  will  only  be  good — stop  quarreling — and 
willingly  help  with  the  bands."  She  gave  way  and  broke 
into  tears. 

As  Minnie  hesitated  between  the  impulse  to  run  to  her 
mother  and  the  impulse  to  run  out  of  the  house,  her  eyes 
lighted  upon  her  father's  portrait.  Her  mother  stood 


BANDS  207 

before  her  a  disloyal  woman,  unsacred.  She  rushed  to 
the  door  and  out  of  the  house. 

Beckie  and  Ida,  troubled  by  the  cloud  which  had  so 
unexpectedly  descended  upon  them,  silently  gazed  out  of 
the  window. 

Sarah  left,  and  toward  evening  returned  with  Leo- 
pold. The  hours  traveled  into  the  night,  yet  Leopold  re- 
mained. The  children  met  in  corners,  in  the  hall,  on  the 
stairs.  They  whispered,  wondered,  marvelled.  They 
looked  furtively  at  their  mother,  believing  they  must  dis- 
cover something  strange,  something  they  had  never  seen 
in  her  before.  Apparently  she  was  the  same,  except  that 
her  eyes  darted  nervously  now  from  the  children  to  Leo- 
pold, now  from  Leopold  to  them. 

At  last  Leopold  called  them  to  him.  Speaking  gently, 
he  promised  that  their  interest  would  be  his  concern ;  he 
would  be  their  father.  Tears  were  in  his  eyes  as  he 
asked  them  to  accept  him. 

A  solemn  silence  fell.  The  atmosphere  held  the  grav- 
ity of  gathering  clouds.  Sarah,  and  then  the  girls,  began 

to  weep.    Jacob  walked  out  of  the  room. 

****** 

It  was  not  Leopold  Pollack's  intention  to  install  him- 
self as  the  domineering  autocrat  in  the  Mendel  home. 
On  the  contrary,  he  wanted  to  be  a  real  father  to  the 
chllHren.  They  had  been  allowed  to  grow  up  like  weeds, 
it  was  his  opinion,  and  for  their  own  good  as  well  as  the 
good  of  the  household  and  the  business  he  meant  to 
teach  them  to  be  orderly,  obedient,  willing  and  well-be- 
haved. 

Leopold,  as  most  people  who  do  not  understand  chil- 
dren, forgot  that  his  meditated  improvements  would  have 
to  be  effected  through  the  medium  of  young  living  mat- 


208  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

ter.  As  soon  as  the  early  self -consciousness  wore  off,  he 
rolled  up  his  shirt  sleeves  and  launched  upon  his  task  of 
reconstruction. 

The  children  instantly  sensed  innovation  and  ruffled 
up  their  feathers. 

The  work-room  window  was  filthy,  he  remarked,  re- 
moving the  wire  from  the  sill  and  glancing  from  one  to 
the  other,  to  gather  which  of  the  three  children  was  the 
most  docile.  Fixing  upon  little  Beckie,  he  asked  her 
courteously  to  bring  a  pail  of  water,  a  clean  cloth  and 
seat  herself  on  the  sill,  pull  the  window  to  her  lap  and 
wash  the  outside  of  the  glass.  Beckie  gave  her  "big" 
sister  Minnie  a  swift  look  of  appeal.  The  little  ten-year- 
old  had  never  before  been  called  upon  to  clean  windows. 
She  was,  if  anything,  small  for  her  age;  her  feet,  when 
she  sat  out,  would  reach  only  a  little  below  the  sill. 

Minnie  flushed,  dropped  her  eyes  and  told  Leopold 
there  was  danger  in  Beckie's  sitting  out,  she  herself  would 
wash  the  window.  Leopold  tried  to  conceal  his  annoy- 
ance at  this  interference.  Nonsense,  Beckie  was  not  too 
small ;  Minnie  would  see  that  Beckie  could  do  it ;  he  would 
hold  on  to  her  skirt  from  the  inside;  it  was  well  for 
Beckie  to  learn  to  clean  windows;  some  day  she  would 
be  a  married  lady.  Beckie  smiled.  Minnie  frowned. 
Married  lady !  Beckie  was  still  a  baby.  Minnie  had  al- 
ways encouraged  the  child  to  depend  upon  her  for  a  moth- 
er's care,  because  their  mother  was  always  busy.  She 
turned  her  back  on  Leopold  while  Beckie  fetched  the 
pail  of  water  and  cloth  and  sat  out  to  wash  the  window. 
Contrary  to  his  promise,  Leopold  did  not  hold  on  to  her 
skirt.  Minnie  waited  a  moment  or  two,  then  rose  from 
counting  'bands,  went  over  to  Beckie  and  stood  clutching 
her.  When  the  task  was  done,  the  child  looked  heated 


BANDS  209 

and  tired.  Minnie  herself  washed  the  inside  of  the  win- 
dow. Leopold  was  exasperated,  though  he  said  nothing. 
He  conceived  a  slight  dislike  for  Minnie.  Out  of  his 
pent-up  feelings  burst  a  brusque  order  to  Beckie  to  settle 
herself  at  sewing.  The  child  started  and  turned  hastily 
to  obey.  Minnie's  color  heightened  with  a  pang  of  pity 
for  Beckie  and  resentment  against  the  stepfather.  This 
man,  she  meditated,  evidently  expected  to  "carry  on" 
that  way  always.  Her  spirit  rose  in  revolt.  She  would 
see  to  it  that  he  dropped  his  "bossing." 

Minor  irritations  arose  constantly.  Minnie's  mutinous 
spirit  found  almost  daily  fuel  to  feed  on,  while  the  two 
younger  children  became  more  and  more  intimidated  and 
were  kept  in  a  constant  nervous  tremor.  It  got  so  that 
Minnie  bore  a  positive  antipathy  toward  this  man  who 
dared  to  order  them  around ;  she  hated  his  "matter-of- 
fact"  way ;  his  obliviousness  of  Beckie's  youth  riled  her. 
He  had  "nerve"  to  exact  a  definite  output  from  Beckie! 
Anything  Beckie  accomplished  was  commendable.  If 
their  mama  insisted,  that  was  different.  But  he!  Why, 
Beckie  was  a  kid — a  baby.  Anyway,  what  had  he  to 
say  ?  He  was  not  a  boss !  It  was  their  mama's  business. 
They  had  worked  the  business  up  without  him.  He  ought 
to  "mind  his  own  affairs." 

On  complaining  to  her  mother,  Minnie  was  vastly  as- 
tonished that  Sarah  defended  the  man.  Her  mother 
must  be  going  crazy. 

Minnie  solicited  sympathetic  indignation  from  Jacob. 
But  Jacob,  who  was  too  busy  with  his  college  work  to  be 
intimately  concerned  with  these  work-room  squabbles,  re- 
ceived her  confidences  at  first  in  silence,  then  with  pro- 
tests that  she  was  to  "let  him  alone."  In  his  secret  heart, 
however,  the  boy  resented  both  Leopold  and  his  mother. 


210  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

How  had  his  mother  dared  to  marry  now  when  her  chil- 
dren were  all  grown  up !    Ugh ! 

As  time  passed  Leopold  assumed  the  more  familiar 
right  to  improve  the  girls'  manners  as  well.  They  must 
lower  their  voices,  be  civil  to  each  other.  Beckie  and 
Ida  submitted,  retreating  to  corners,  from  which  they 
emerged  red-eyed  and  whispering  fretfully,  but  stopping 
short  if  ever  there  was  danger  of  Leopold's  overhear- 
ing. 

"Why  don't  you  talk?"  Of  what  are  you  afraid?" 
Minnie  would  shout  to  rouse  a  spirit  of  defiance  in  them. 
She  could  have  kicked  Leopold,  spat  on  him,  dug  her 
nails  into  him.  Her  whole  nature,  apparently,  was  chang- 
ing from  timidity  to  aggressiveness. 

Sarah  made  mute  appeals  to  Minnie  to  control  herself, 
while  she  turned  pleading  eyes  on  Leopold.  When  Leo- 
pold was  out  of  hearing,  she  would  order  Minnie  to  learn 
to  hold  her  tongue ;  when  the  children  were  out  of  hear- 
ing, she  would  implore  Leopold  to  change  his  tactics. 
Each  resisted.  Indeed  Minnie  would  not  let  him  boss 
them,  she  wouldn't.  She  hated  him.  Leopold,  in  turn, 
gave  Sarah  a  bitter  dose  to  swallow  by  telling  her  she 
had  raised  wild  animals;  small  wonder  he  was  having 
the  devil's  own  time  of  it.  If  the  dose  failed  in  its  cura- 
tive effect,  he  would  charge  her  with  abetting  the  chil- 
dren into  defying  him,  and  hinted  that  under  such  cir- 
cumstances there  was  no  use  for  him  to  try  any  longer 
to  bring  order  out  of  the  chaos;  he  might  as  well  quit. 
That  would  throw  poor  Sarah  into  a  panic.  If  Leopold 
were  to  desert  her  she  would  be  exposed  to  public  ridi- 
cule— to  unendurable  shame.  The  thought  would  bring 
the  goose-flesh  to  her  skin;  and  in  this  state  she  would 
pounce  on  Minnie,  abusively  insist  upon  her  behaving 


BANDS  2ii 

properly,  threaten  that  her  step-father  "would  throw  her 
out  of  the  house,"  and  declare  he  would  be  justified  in 
doing  so ;  while  at  the  same  time  her  heart  would  writhe 
in  agony  as  she  watched  the  pallor  spread  over  her 
daughter's  face  and  heard  her  unnaturally  shrill  shrieks. 
Her  mother,  Minnie  would  charge,  cared  nothing  about 
the  children.  She,  in  a  conspiracy  with  "that  man," 
wanted  to  drive  them  all  out  of  the  house.  Leopold  was  a 
lazy  fellow  who  had  come  to  "sponge"  on  them  because  he 
could  not  make  a  living  for  himself.  She  would  rather  die 
than  permit  him  to  overwork  little  Beckie  or  frighten  the 
life  out  of  Ida,  who  trembled  when  she  heard  his  foot- 
steps. If  she,  their  mother,  did  not  care,  she,  their  sister, 
did. 

At  these  charges  against  her  motherhood,  Sarah's  blood 
would  boil.  Minnie,  she  would  shout  in  a  rage,  was  a 
wild,  wild  animal — took  the  liberties  of  a  brazen  hussy — 
belonged  by  rights  to  the  sort  of  mother  who  sent  her 
children  out  to  work  in  sweat-shops  to  support  their 
mother.  Minnie  didn't  deserve  a  mother  who  slaved  to 
let  her  go  to  high  school.  .  .  .  Then  the  unbearable  sight 
of  her  daughter's  greenish  pallor  would  drive  Sarah  out 
of  the  room,  apparently  hissing  anger,  while  Minnie 
would  hurl  after  her :  "I  don't  have  to  work  in  a  shop ; 
I  know  how  to  read  and  write,  and  I'm  not  dumb  or  dull. 
If  you  think  you're  threatening  me,  you  can  be  sure 
you're  not;  this  house  is  a  regular  hell." 

During  one  such  quarrel  Minnie  went  into  hysterics. 
Sarah,  terrified,  ran  to  her,  implored  her  to  control  her- 
self. Minnie,  from  actual  aversion,  pushed  her  away, 
shrieking  that  she  should  go  to  "that  man" ;  her  feelings 
for  her  children  were  not  genuine. 

For  some  time  thereafter  mother  and  daughter  scarcely 


212  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

exchanged  a  word.  Minnie  went  about  constantly  watch- 
ing for  any  show  of  "meanness,"  and  Sarah  brooded  mis- 
erably. Then  came  a  big  order  for  bands. 

****** 

The  work-room  hummed  with  activity.  Beckie  had 
been  running  the  machine  until  her  back  ached.  In 
choosing  her  last  batch  of  bands,  she  deliberately  dis- 
criminated against  those  which  were  cut  from  the  poor 
grade  of  buckram  because  they  had  "lumps"  and  "bumps" 
and  were  hard  to  sew.  Leopold,  noticing  her  selection, 
snatched  them  away  from  her  and  demanded  roughly: 
"Don't  you  know  we  must  use  up  the  damaged  buck- 
ram?" Beckie  threw  Minnie  a  swift,  imploring  look. 
"I  won't  let  her  do  it !"  burst  upon  Minnie's  mind.  Her 
heart  began  to  hammer.  She  seized  the  bands  Leopold 
had  substituted  and  handed  the  better  ones  back  to 
Beckie.  Her  chest  heaving,  she  stood  defying  Leopold 
and  her  mother  with  her  eyes.  Sarah  frowned  menac- 
ingly. Beckie,  frightened,  put  down  the  better  bands 
and  picked  up  the  others  which  Minnie,  in  turn,  tore 
away  from  her,  ready  to  hurl  an  insult  at  her  sister, 
when  she  observed  the  child's  pallor  and  the  alarm  in 
her  eyes.  Poor  little  Beckie!  She  was  scared!  For  a 
moment  Minnie  was  held  by  a  surge  of  pity.  Then  it 
occurred  to  her  that  they  were  all  scared — that  Jacob 
was  a  shirker,  always  dodging  issues. 

"Beckie!"  she  cried  threateningly,  and  tried  to  force 
the  better  bands  upon  her. 

Sarah  stepped  hastily  forward,  snatched  the  bands 
away  from  Minnie  and  cried  in  a  low  voice : 

"You  are  a  busybody — an  ungrateful,  unwilling  child. 
You  don't  appreciate  your  uncle  who  does  his  best  for 
you." 


BANDS  213 

"Sit  down  and  work!"  Leopold  shouted  at  Beckie  si- 
multaneously. 

His  shout  sent  a  spasm  of  resentment  through  the 
mother's  heart,  yet  she  turned  to  Minnie  and  cried  with 
equal  roughness:  "You  sit  down,  too!" 

"I  won't!"  Minnie  shrieked,  on  the  verge  of  hysterics, 
her  heart  thumping.  She  could  have  strangled  both  her 
mother  and  Leopold.  "And  I  won't  let  Beckie  hurt  her 
hands  either."  She  tore  the  bands  away  from  Beckie 
again  and,  holding  them  up  to  Leopold,  cried :  "You're 
a  husky  man,  you  work  on  these  bands."  And  with  that 
she  hurled  them  at  him. 

Leopold  showed  that  the  girl  had  gone  too  far. 

Sarah,  terrified,  divided  one  swift  look  between  the 
two.  Her  heart  cried  in  anguish :  "God,  what  will  be  the 
end  of  it  all !" 

"She  ought  to  be  thrown  out  of  the  house,"  raged 
Leopold.  "She  ought  to  have  to  knock  around  in  sweat- 
shops like  thousands  of  other  girls !" 

She  work  in  a  shop !  Minnie's  heart  flamed  with  con- 
tempt and  indignation.  It  was  the  ugliest,  bitterest  in- 
sult. Only  ignorant  foreign  girls  worked  in  shops.  She, 
a  high-school  girl,  who  aspired  to  a  college  education, 
whom  Sarah  herself  had  picked  out  to  be  a  doctor,  a  law- 
yer, she  to  work  in  a  shop ! 

"Shut  up!"  she  hissed  at  Leopold. 

He  raised  a  hand  to  strike  her,  but  dropped  it,  aghast, 
suddenly  realizing  the  extreme  pass  to  which  things  had 
come.  He  had  never  foreseen  such  dire  consequences 
from  his  innocent  measures  of  reform.  Sarah's  ashen 
face,  as  she  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  wringing  her 
hands,  Minnie's  shrill  shouting,  Beckie's  tearfulness, 
struck  tragedy  into  his  heart. 


2i4  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Minnie  shouted:  "Don't  you  dare  to "  wildly  in- 
censed at  his  intention  to  strike  her  and  almost  more 
wildly  incensed  that  her  mother  stood  by  "complacently." 
"I  hate  you !  You're  a  mean  man.  I  hate  you !"  she 
yelled.  "I  won't  stay  here  any  longer.  You  can  stay 
with  your  wife,  and  you  can  both  work  the  children  to 
death  like  slaves  to  swell  your  bank  account.  That's 
what  you  want.  I  hate  you — both  of  you !" 

With  a  furious  look,  she  grabbed  up  her  hat  and  school 
books  and  tore  out  of  the  house. 

XLV 

A  dark,  heavy  silence  fell  upon  Sarah  and  Leopold 
when  the  door  closed  on  Minnie.  With  a  swift  look  at 
each  other,  they  turned  and  left  the  room,  Sarah  going 
into  the  parlor  where  she  collapsed  in  a  chair,  and  Leo- 
pold going  into  the  bedroom  where  he  stayed  a  few  mo- 
ments puttering  around.  Now  and  then  he  glanced  sur- 
reptitiously into  the  parlor  at  Sarah's  dejected  figure. 
Soon  he  returned  to  the  work-room.  At  the  end  of  a 
half-hour  he  could  bear  his  restrained  excitement  no 
longer;  he  picked  up  his  hat  and  was  about  to  go  out. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  called  Sarah,  starting  up,  full 
of  misgivings. 

"Out,"  he  said,  avoiding  her  eyes.  This  announce- 
ment of  the  obvious  angered  Sarah.  She  turned  her  head 
away,  flushed,  and  muttered  under  her  breath  :  "Go !  A 11 
of  you !" 

He  went. 

She  sat  down  again  and  stared  with  unseeing  eyes 
through  the  window,  while  her  mind  went  round  in  a 
whirl.  Such  a  daughter  as  she  had  brought  up,  such  a 


BANDS  215 

daughter!  Let  her  go — let  her  stay  away!  As  if  she 
had  any  place  to  go  to,  as  if  she  had  the  spunk  to  shift 
for  herself !  Was  ever  a  mother  so  cursed  with  such  a 
stubborn,  wilful  child?  Not  even  this  would  teach  her 
a  lesson.  She  would  come  home  still  of  the  same  obsti- 
nate spirit.  Forever  they  would  continue — these  fights — 
these  discouraging,  these  disgusting  scenes  as  if  they 
were  a  low,  Polish  set.  .  .  .  Sarah  heaved  a  deep 
sigh.  .  .  .  What  had  she  done  to  deserve  such  a  fate? 
In  the  great  world  other  women  married,  too,  but  the 
stepfathers  and  children  got  along,  and  the  homes  were 
nice,  quiet,  pleasant.  Never  had  she  known  peace — not 
as  a  wife — not  as  a  mother.  "If  only  she  would  stay 
away  it  would  really  be  a  solution."  The  thought,  hardly 
framed,  filled  Sarah  with  shame,  like  a  virgin  who  has 
allowed  herself  to  think  unchastely. 

She  rose  and  began  to  stir  around  the  house,  fol- 
lowed by  the  shadow  of  her  conflicting  feelings.  She 
wondered  where  Leopold  could  have  gone,  when  he 
would  return,  and  whether  the  two  would  come  back  at 
the  same  time.  "If  Minnie,"  she  thought,  "would  come 
later  or  sooner,  it  would  be  better."  Every  now  and 
then  a  panicky  feeling  that,  if  Minnie  did  carry  out  her 
threat,  people  would  condemn  her,  call  her  a  bad  mother, 
beset  her  heart ;  but  she  lulled  herself  with  the  assurance 
that  the  girl  had  no  other  refuge.  .  .  .  "Always  it  has 
been  Minnie.  All  the  quarrels — all  the  worry — all  the 
ugliness  of  the  family  relationship  from  time  immemorial 
— she  caused.  Always,  even  as  a  child,  from  the  time 
when  I  sent  her  to  Mira  for  the  band,  she  has  stood  out 
obstinately  opposed  to  everything  I  have  done."  Sarah's 
heart  was  resentful,  but  her  heart  also  ached  for  her 
child. 


216  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

She  looked  at  the  clock.  Leopold  had  been  gone  two 
hours  already.  She  was  seized  by  a  nervous  fear  that 
he  might  not  come  back  at  all. 

Supper  preparations  were  completed.  She  set  the 
table,  then  went  back  to  the  parlor  window.  Ten  min- 
utes later  Leopold  opened  the  door.  Little  did  he  know 
what  relief  stirred  in  Sarah's  soul. 

During  supper  no  mention  was  made  of  Minnie,  though 
the  eyes  of  each  frequently  traveled  to  the  door.  After 
supper  the  family  sat  round  in  an  unsettled  state,  and  as 
the  evening  wore  on  and  no  Minnie  appeared,  their  eyes 
mutely  questioned  one  another;  their  faces  fell  into 
troubled  lines ;  all  listened  eagerly  for  footsteps  in  the 
hall.  Leopold,  unable  to  bear  the  sight  of  Sarah's 
anguish,  went  to  bed. 

At  ten  o'clock  Beckie  and  Ida  followed  his  example. 
Jacob  sat  up  until  midnight  ostensibly  studying.  Then 
he,  too,  retired. 

Sarah  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  room,  wringing 
her  hands  and  muttering  lamentations.  At  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning  Leopold  appeared  on  the  threshold  and 
urged  her  to  go  to  bed. 

"Go  away !"  she  cried.    He  went. 

At  the  first  break  of  dawn  Sarah  leaned  out  of  the 
front  window.  One  moment  she  was  frantic  with  con- 
cern for  Minnie,  the  next  moment  she  was  frantic  against 
Minnie.  The  chords  of  her  heart  played  a  double  tune, 
but  she  listened  mostly  to  the  mother-string.  When  her 
family  rose  early  in  the  morning,  they  found  her  worn 
and  wan,  an  object  of  misery. 

Days  passed,  and  still  no  Minnie.  Sometimes,  when 
Sarah  was  overcome  with  fear  that  something  awful 
might  have  happened  to  her,  she  would  entertain  plans 


BANDS  217 

for  locating  her — going  to  the  police  station,  or  advertis- 
ing in  the  newspaper.  But  dread  of  the  publicity  in- 
volved in  such  steps  would  hold  her  back.  In  her  di- 
lemma she  would  resent  the  girl's  conduct  as  outrageous, 
unheard  of,  deserving  of  any  evil  reward  and  would  pity 
herself  that  she  who  had  worked  her  fingers  to  callous 
flesh  and  sweated  and  bled  for  her  children,  should  be 
treated  so  by  her  oldest  daughter.  In  this  frame  of  mind 
she  would  grow  quite  indifferent  to  Minnie ;  but,  ashamed 
of  her  indifference,  afraid  the  others  would  perceive  it, 
she  would  give  exaggerated  outward  manifestations  of 
grief,  going  about  mute  and  glum  and  taking  every  occa- 
sion to  throw  harsh  words  at  Leopold.  The  children, 
distressed  on  her  account,  would  encourage  her  by 
prophesying  Minnie's  return,  if  not  that  day,  then  the 
next.  "Go  away,"  Sarah  would  shout  at  them,  "you 
do  not  care  a  bit  about  your  sister." 

When  Jacob,  however,  who  at  first  manifested  his  in- 
dignation at  Leopold  by  maintaining  silence,  burst  out 
one  day  charging  hrm  with  a  rascal's  success  and  also 
picked  up  and  left,  Sarah  was  shaken  down  to  her  nor- 
mal self.  Her  conduct,  she  perceived  clearly,  had  re- 
sulted in  a  fresh  calamity.  She  became  at  once  more 
talkative  and  cheerful,  and  showed  Leopold  wifely  at- 
tentions. Oddly  enough,  from  now  on  she  began  to 
worry  about  her  daughter  undividedly.  She  went  to 
Wadleigh  High  School  and  the  Queen's  Daughters  in 
the  hope  of  discovering  her  whereabouts.  Minnie  had 
ceased  to  attend  both  places.  Sarah  came  back  home  witfi 
a  haunted  heart. 


BOOK  II 
MINNIE 


PART    I 
INDEPENDENCE 


PART  I 
INDEPENDENCE 

The  night  of  Sarah's  vigil  Minnie  spent  in  a  home  on 
Rivington  Street,  the  home  of  two  Dakowsky  sisters,  one 
of  whom,  Dora,  she  had  met  at  the  Queen's  Daughters. 
She  knew  they  kept  boarders  in  their  five-room  flat  and 
had  a  stepmother ;  both  of  which  considerations  impelled 
her  to  go  there,  as  they  would  probably  have  room  for 
her  and  also — with  a  stepparent  of  their  own — sympathy. 
She  was  right.  Dora  did  proffer  sympathy  and  a  third 
of  the  bed  that  she  and  her  sister  shared — provided  the 
stepmother  did  not  object. 

The  worn,  wrinkled  little  woman  consented  only  after 
a  good  deal  of  persuading  by  Dora,  who,  eager  to  glad- 
den her  friend's  heart,  ran  back  to  the  bedroom,  where 
she  had  left  Minnie  and  where  they  had  sat  deploring 
the  cruelty  of  stepparents.  According  to  Mrs.  Dakow- 
sky's  dictates,  the  rental  of  the  one-third  of  bed  was  to 
be  one  dollar  a  month;  breakfast,  of  coffee,  a  roll  and 
cheese  or  smoked  salmon,  was  to  be  five  cents ;  luncheons 
she  would  not  provide  because  she  helped  her  husband 
in  his  butcher  shop;  and  supper,  of  good  soup,  meat, 
pickle  and  bread,  was  to  be  fifteen  cents,  except  on  Fri- 
days, when  the  price  was  twenty-five  cents  because  of  a 
more  elaborate  menu. 

In  detailing  this  price-list  Dora  quite  innocently  raised 
up  a  mountain  of  anxiety  in  front  of  Minnie,  who  lis- 

223 


224  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

tened  appalled.  Dora  did  not  know,  and  Minnie  had 
forgotten,  that  she  had  no  money.  They  looked  at  each 
other  aghast  and  were  about  to  drop  into  gloom  when 
an  idea  struck  Dora.  She  jumped  up  in  excited  glee, 
clapping  her  hands.  The  five  men  boarders  had  often 
expressed  a  desire  for  a  competent  person  to  teach  them 
English.  Minnie  could  teach  them !  That  would  solve 
Minnie's  problem  and  theirs,  too.  Dora  tingled  with  de- 
light. 

"What  do  they  do  ?"  Minnie  asked. 

"Two  of  them  are  cloak  operators,  one  a  finisher,  and 
Louis  is  a  painter." 

When  the  men  were  gathered  about  the  kitchen  table, 
Mrs.  Dakowsky  serving  them  with  a  "tub"  of  soup  and 
a  pan  of  meat,  each  of  which  she  pronounced  far  too 
good  for  the  Czar  of  Russia,  Minnie  and  Dora,  arms 
around  each  other's  waists,  entered  as  gracefully  as  debu- 
tantes in  a  ballroom. 

"Meet  my  friend  Miss  Mendel."  Dora  did  the  hon- 
ors. "She's  a  high-school  girl.  She'll  teach  you  English. 
Now  ain't  that  lovely?"  she  ended  emphatically,  nodding 
her  head  in  rhythm  with  her  tone. 

The  men  were  impressed.  Before  long  they  came  to 
terms.  The  lessons  were  to  be  given  in  class  form  three 
times  a  week  and  were  to  cost  fifteen  cents  a  person  per 
lesson. 

With  the  most  careful  economy,  this  income  could 
not  be  stretched  to  meet  a  week's  needs.  Minnie  had  to 
do  without  lunches.  If  hunger  too  inconsiderately  thrust 
itself  upon  her  at  lunch  time,  she  yielded  and  ruled  out 
supper.  This  irregularity  provoked  Mrs.  Dakowsky,  who 
complained  that  by  the  time  Minnie  discovered  her  disin- 
clination for  the  evening  meal  she  had  already  invested  in 


INDEPENDENCE  225 

the  viands.  It  was  agreed,  therefore,  that  Minnie  should 
be  registered  for  a  supper  every  other  night  and  be  per- 
mitted to  partake  of  one-half  of  it  at  a  time,  the  other 
half  to  be  allowed  storage  room  in  the  ice-box  until  the 
next  night,  when  she  would  complete  its  consumption.  A 
pesky  arrangement ;  but  Mrs.  Dakowsky  knew  how  it 
was  with  the  girl,  and,  not  being  a  heartless  woman,  suf- 
fered it  to  continue,  thinking  privately  that  Minnie  ought 
to  throw  up  high  school  and  go  to  work.  She  hoped 
Minnie  would  at  least  get  additional  pupils,  so  that  she 
could  settle  down  to  a  regular  supper  on  each  of  God's 
regular  nights. 

Minnie  earnestly  hoped  for  the  same ;  her  abstentions 
were  doing  her  no  special  good  either.  She  was  getting 
to  feel  rather  weak  and  shaky  at  the  knees.  She  told 
Dora  so,  who  said,  innocently  enough:  "You  can  surely 
get  work  in  a  shop — why  don't  you  give  up  high  school  ?" 

A  shop !  Minnie  turned  upon  her  with  eyes  glaring  in- 
dignation. 

Dora,  abashed,  remembering  Minnie's  experience  with 
her  stepfather,  apologized.  Of  course  she  ought  to  have 
remembered  that  shop  work  was  beneath  Minnie.  For  a 
day  or  two,  however,  the  relations  between  the  two  were 
strained.  It  was  bad  enough,  Minnie  felt,  that  she  had 
been  compelled  to  descend  to  the  East  Side  again.  But 
to  have  Dora,  her  friend,  suggest  a  shop  as  a  solution! 
Leopold  was  probably  saying  that  she  was  already  work- 
ing in  a  shop! 

II 

Two  of  Minnie's  pupils  were  of  the  sort  who  laugh 
loudest  at  coarse  jokes  and  revel  in  suggestiveness.  Louis 


226  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

the  "paintner,"  who  was  often  caught  gaping  at  the  long, 
white  neck  of  the  teacher  and  looking  with  fascinated 
eyes  at  her  slender  white  hand  as  it  wrote  the  letters  of 
the  alphabet,  was  their  special  butt.  They  would  pass 
remarks  about  him  in  audible  whispers,  break  out  into 
vulgar  laughter,  and,  with  knowing  looks,  dig  each  other 
in  the  ribs. 

Minnie,  too  young  and  inexperienced  to  ignore  them, 
would,  in  her  ingenuousness,  inquire  interestedly  into 
the  cause  of  their  hilarity,  and  then  find  herself  embar- 
rassed, blushing,  stammering,  stuttering,  and  utterly  mis- 
erable. After  a  time  she  hit  upon  the  happy  idea  of  inti- 
mating that  they  were  wasting  their  money  in  thus  idling 
their  time  away,  and  this  gave  them  pause.  They  brought 
their  pencils  to  their  mouths,  and  worked  industriously 
the  rest  of  the  evening.  After  that,  except  on  rare  oc- 
casions, things  went  better ;  it  was  only  when  the  teacher 
was  out  of  hearing  that  they  teased  "the  paintner." 

Louis'  roughness  of  manner  was  refreshing  rather  than 
offensive.  He  was  loud-spoken,  but  mild-worded.  He 
laughed  thunderously,  but  with  an  accompanying  embar- 
rassment that  seemed  to  muffle  the  sound.  He  had  the 
gentle  consideration  that  is  clumsy  in  the  act  but  so  sin- 
cere in  expression  that  it  evokes  only  appreciation.  He 
was.  big  and  burly,  with  hands  always  paint-smeared  and 
clothes  redolent  and  shining  with  the  stuff  of  his  trade. 

Minnie  appealed  to  him  by  the  law  of  opposites.  Al- 
though under  stress  she  had  deteriorated  into  the  aggres- 
sive and  assertive  Minnie  that  the  stepfather  knew,  the 
real  Minnie  was  gentle,  low-voiced,  mild-mannered  and 
shy. 

Louis  learned  from  the  missus  of  the  establishment 
how  it  happened  that  Minnie  had  come  to  live  among 


INDEPENDENCE  227 

them — a  mean  mother,  for  the  sake  of  a  strange  man, 
had  driven  the  girl  out.  He  learned  also  of  the  reason 
for  her  absences  from  table  at  meal  times.  The  latter 
knowledge  gave  him  much  concern.  He  had  the  sym- 
pathetic nature  that  feels  with  all  suffering.  If  he  met 
a  crippled  beggar  on  the  street,  he  would  be  unhappy  for 
days.  There  are  some  people  like  Louis  still  left  in  the 
world.  He  suggested  to  the  other  pupils  that  since  they 
were  so  well  satisfied  they  should  increase  the  tuition 
fee  to  twenty-five  cents.  One  of  the  basting-pullers  did 
not  take  kindly  to  the  idea.  He  clapped  his  hand  on  a 
bony  knee  and  pursed  his  lips. 

"No  sir!  If  she  said  fifteen  cents,  then  it  is  fifteen 
cents.  If  she  will  raise  the  price  herself,  then  she  will 
raise  the  price,  but  we  shouldn't  suggest  it,"  he  said  dis- 
agreeably. 

Louis  then  hit  upon  the  scheme  of  retiring  from  the 
class  and  becoming  a  private  "scholner." 

It  was  obvious,  however,  that  Louis'  small  raise  did 
not  carry  Minnie  far,  for  she  absented  herself  from  meals 
just  the  same  and  looked  even  more  pinched  and  pale. 
Then  Louis  secretly  advised  her  to  raise  her  rates.  She 
deserved  it,  he  told  her  emphatically.  Minnie  was  em- 
barrassed and  stammered  something  to  the  effect  that  the 
men  were  paying  enough,  and  Louis  felt  compelled  to 
drop  the  subject. 


Ill 


Minnie  had  just  left  her  books  in  the  office  of  the 
Wadleigh  High  School  and  was  standing  aimlessly  in  the 
vestibule,  with  that  void  in  her  heart,  that  agonized  feel- 


228  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

ing  of  "what  next?"  which  only  the  peace-loving  who 
are  condemned  to  be  storm-tossed  know. 

It  was  done,  and  now  school  was  over  forever.  What 
would  her  mother  say  if  she  knew?  What  would  "he" 
say  ?  For  the  first  time  the  anger  in  which  she  had  left 
home  and  which  had  supported  her  during  all  the  weeks, 
forsook  her.  The  tears  came  instead,  and  she  wondered 
whether  her  family  had  actually  expected  and  wished 
her  to  stay  away,  whether  they  were  really  indifferent  as 
to  what  became  of  her.  Had  they  tried  to  find  her?  "I 
might  just  as  well  be  dead  as  far  as  they  are  concerned. 
If  any  of  them  had  disappeared,  I  would  have  searched 
High  and  low  to  find  them." 

Classes  were  dismissed,  and  girls  began  to  pass  in  files 
through  the  vestibule.  Minnie  dried  her  eyes  and  stole 
out  on  to  the  street.  She  drew  a  deep  breath  as  if  to 
prepare  herself  to  face  a  great,  big  world.  The  first 
thing  she  would  do,  she  decided,  would  be  to  go  from 
office  to  office  of  the  doctors  and  lawyers  in  the  vicinity 
of  Rivington  Street.  In  that  neighborhood  there  was 
less  danger  of  detection  by  anyone  who  knew  her,  and, 
Besides,  she  would  save  carfares. 

She  had  no  luck  that  day.  The  doctors  and  lawyers 
all  required  some  funny  asset  called  "shorthand"  and 
dismissed  her  peremptorily  because  of  her  ignorance  of 
that  pesky  subject,  as  if  her  high-school  education 
amounted  to  nothing  and  her  excellent  handwriting  were 
a  worthless  trifle,  when,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  the 
one  thing  that  she  felt  safeguarded  her  against  the  com- 
pulsion to  work  in  a  shop. 

Fearful  that  her  great  disappointment  might  submerge 
her,  she  egged  herself  on  to  take  comfort  in  the  hope  of 
better  luck  the  next  dav. 


INDEPENDENCE  229 

In  the  evening,  after  the  class  of  the  Dakowsky  board- 
ers and  private  instruction  of  Louis,  she  took  him  into 
her  confidence.  He,  too,  was  of  the  mind  that  the  sun 
would  shine  on  the  morrow.  Her  obvious  anxiety  so 
pained  him  that  he  managed  between  hems  and  haws  to 
intimate  that  he  would  be  ever  so  glad  to  lend  her  at 
least  five  dollars  until  matters  mended  themselves.  She 
shrank  from  his  offer  as  if  it  held  indelible  dishonor, 
thereby  causing  him  great  embarrassment.  He  puck- 
ered his  forehead  and  examined  his  black-rimmed  finger- 
nails like  a  sensitive  boy. 

Early  the  next  morning  she  started  out  breakfastless 
on  another  job-hunting  expedition,  with  the  same  empty 
result.  Nor  did  she  have  better  success  the  following 
day,  or  the  day  after  that.  But  the  failure  of  her  ef- 
forts only  increased  the  fierceness  of  her  determination : 
she  was  not  Sarah's  daughter  for  nothing. 

One  day  she  strayed  by  mistake  into  the  office  of  a 
physician  on  whom  she  had  already  called.  He  had  been 
busy  with  patients  and  had  dismissed  her  peremptorily. 
Minnie,  on  opening  the  door,  instantly  perceived  her  er- 
ror, and  drew  back. 

"Oh,  excuse  me,  I've  been  here  before." 

The  young  man,  who  was  not  busy  now,  gave  her  a 
quizzical  look  and  asked  her  to  come  in. 

Flushing  with  excitement  and  the  anticipation  of  suc- 
cess, Minnie* closed  the  door  and  stepped  timidly  yet 
eagerly  forward. 

He  drew  a  chair  out.  "Be  seated,"  he  said,  affecting 
the  manner  of  an  older  man.  Then  he  swung  his  swivel 
chair  round  to  face  his  desk.  After  a  pause,  during 
which  his  eyes  rested  intently  on  a  paper  on  which  he 
was  scribbling,  he  cleared  his  throat  and  spoke  again. 


230  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"You  were  here  before  asking  for  work?"  He  went  on 
scribbling. 

"Yes." 

"Been  asking  other  doctors  for  work?" 

"Yes." 

Another  pause ;  then,  turning  from  the  paper  suddenly, 
he  flashed  his  eyes  at  her. 

"Look  here,  girlie/'  he  began,  "you  ought  to  be  sitting 
on  your  mother's  lap  instead  of  hunting  work." 

The  advice  came  so  unexpectedly  and  was  such  a 
damper  on  her  eagerness,  that  Minnie  could  only  stare 
at  him,  a  feverish  brilliancy  in  her  great  gray  eyes.  He 
looked  into  them  as  though  he  were  searching  for  his 
own  image  in  a  looking-glass.  Then  he  brought  his  lips 
together  as  though  he  were  satisfied  with  what  he  had 
seen  and  turned  to  his  desk  again.  Instantly,  however, 
he  faced  about  once  more  and  regarded  the  girl  with  a 
superior,  though  faintly  amused,  smile  round  his  lips  and 
in  his  eyes. 

"Have  you  a  mother?" 

She  hesitated.  She  had  a  mother  in  the  flesh,  but  not 
in  the  spirit. 

"No,"  she  replied. 

He  was  apparently  interested. 

"A  father?" 

"No." 

"What  have  you  been  doing?" 

"I  have  been  going  to  high  school." 

"When  did  you  leave  ?" 

"Lately." 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

"With  a  friend — a  girl  friend." 

The  young  man  noted  her  addition,  "a  girl  friend," 


INDEPENDENCE  231 

and  regarded  her  steadfastly,  as  if  to  interpret  her  soul, 
wondering  how  much  she  knew. 

"Do  you  think,"  he  asked,  assuming  a  grave  air,  "that 
it  is  very  nice  for  a  girl  to  go  around  from  office  to  office 
looking  for  work?"  He  used  the  word  "nice,"  though 
he  meant  "safe." 

Minnie  looked  uncomprehending. 

"Isn't  it  nice?    Is  it  like  begging?" 

"No,  oh,  no,"  he  answered  reassuringly,  "not  beg- 
ging  "  He  leaned  forward  in  his  chair,  his  breath 

beginning  to  come  short. 

"Come,  little  girl,"  he  said  in  a  lowered  voice  with  a 
paternal  note  in  it,  "sit  down  on  my  knee,  and  I'll  tell 
you  something  you  ought  to  know." 

Minnie  hesitated.  He  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes. 
Though  her  knowledge  of  sex  propriety  was  limited  and 
no  one  would  have  been  more  astonished  than  she  to 
learn  that  there  was  any  danger  in  doing  what  the  doc- 
tor asked,  her  instinct  told  her  that  to  sit  on  a  man's 
knee  was  somehow  not  right. 

"Uh,  no,"  she  gasped,  shrinking  back  in  her  chair. 

The  doctor  leaned  back.  He  suspected  that  Minnie 
knew.  He  assumed  again  the  manner  of  a  busy 
man. 

"Well,  step  in  again  to-morrow,"  he  said  brusquely. 
"Perhaps  I  will  ask  a  friend  whether  he  needs  a  girl  in 
his  office."  He  turned  in  his  chair  and  bent  over  his 
desk,  pen  in  hand. 

Minnie  rose,  a  sense  of  deep  calamity  possessing  her. 
Had  she  lost  an  opportunity  for  work  by  refusing  to  sit 
on  the  doctor's  knee  ?  She  could  have  bit  off  her  tongue. 
Attempting  to  cover  up  her  agitation,  she  said : 


232  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"I — I  did  not  mean  to — to  insult  you.  I'm  not " 

her  intuition  suggested  the  right  word — "afraid." 

The  young  man  manifested  an  electric  interest.  He 
lifted  his  eyes  quickly  and,  seeing  that  the  girl  was  quite 
serious,  rose,  placed  his  arm  around  her  uncorseted 
waist,  drew  her,  unresisting,  to  his  chair,  and  seated  her 
on  his  knee. 

"Well,  now,  that's  a  nice  girl,"  he  said  wheedlingly,  as 
one  entices  a  shy  animal.  He  made  an  effort  to  control 
the  trembling  of  his  limbs. 

Minnie's  heart  was  beating  from  an  indefinable  fear ; 
and,  somehow,  she  felt  ashamed. 

The  doctor  silently  ran  his  hand  up  and  down  her  loins 
over  her  clothes,  several  times  gently,  then  less  gently, 
and  finally  pressed  her  to  him  ardently,  his  breath  coming 
thick  and  short. 

Minnie  was  amazed  at  this,  and  her  young  face  ex- 
pressed puzzled  inquiry.  Ashamed,  the  doctor  loosened 
his  hold  and  pretended  to  have  the  toothache.  But  the 
next  moment  he  completely  abandoned  himself;  he 
crushed  her  to  him  with  all  his  strength,  fumbling  at  the 
same  time  with  her  skirts. 

A  rap  sounded.  He  released  her  with  lightning  rapid- 
ity. It  was  the  janitor  who  came  to  know  if  the  doctor 
had  found  the  key  he  had  lost.  Yes,  the  doctor  had  found 
the  key — the  words  were  spoken  with  an  effort  and  with 
suppressed  annoyance. 

The  interruption  sent  Minnie  hurrying  to  the  idoor.  If 
only  she  could  get  out  before  the  janitor  was  gone!  A 
foreboding  of  evil  was  in  her  heart.  She  was  so — so 
frightened !  But  before  she  reached  the  door,  the  doctor 
found  time  to  say :  "Wait,  little  girl,"  and  in  the  mean- 


INDEPENDENCE  233 

time  the  janitor  disappeared.  The  doctor  stepped  toward 
her.  She  stood  clutching  the  door-knob. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  he  said  softly,  looking  hard  at  her. 

She  made  no  reply. 

"I  didn't  hurt  you,"  he  half  asserted,  half  asked. 

Embarrassed  and  perplexed  at  her  own  alarm,  she 
stood  with  her  hand  playing  nervously  with  the  door- 
knob, the  tears  gathering  in  her  eyes. 

"No "  came  from  her,  timidly. 

"Well,  now,  show  me  you  are  not  afraid  by  coming 
to-morrow  and  I  will  give  you  all  the  money  you  need 
until  you  find  work.  Just  to  be  a  nice  girl."  He  swung 
his  hands  and  raised  his  shoulders  nonchalantly,  at  the 
same  time  scrutinizing  her  sharply. 

Minnie  made  no  reply. 

"You're  not'  afraid  of  me  ?"  he  half  asked  again. 

She  turned  large  eyes  up  to  him.  He  had  convinced 
her. 

"No,"  she  replied  naively,  "why  should  I  be?" 

He  was  greatly  pleased. 

"Of  course  you're  not,"  he  assured  her,  and  added  in 
a  low  voice :  "But  don't  tell  anybody  what "  he  hesi- 
tated. She  looked  questioningly  at  him — "that "  he 

hesitated  again,  then  quickly  went  on:  "Well,  what  we 
do  together  is  nobody's  business" — his  breath  came  thick 
again,  his  eyes  grew  cloudy — "and  just  don't  tell  any- 
body. There,  now,  shake  hands,  and  promise." 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

"No,  I  Won't  tell  anybody,"  she  promised ;  "it's  none  of 
my  business." 

The  doctor  suppressed  a  chuckle.  He  shook  her 
hand. 

"Well,  now,  come  to-morrow  and  show  me  that  you're 


234  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

not  afraid,  and  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for  you."    He  took 
her  to  the  outer  door. 

The  words  held  a  promise  of  work  and  Minnie  felt, 
despite  everything,  hopeful. 

IV 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon.  Minnie  had  made  the 
rounds  of  almost  all  the  remaining  offices  in  the  vicinity, 
and  was  reduced  to  the  helplessness  of  one  drowning. 
Would  she  have  to  go  to  a  shop  after  all  ?  Surely,  there 
must  be  some  office  where  her  high-school  education 
would  stand  her  in  good  stead!  There  was  the  doctor. 
A  voice  within  her,  a  weak  one,  to  be  sure,  warned  her 
not  to  approach  him.  Yet  he  might  have  a  position  for 
her. 

Between  the  fear  of  going  to  him  and  the  impelling 
force  of  desperation,  she  turned  toward  his  office  as  un- 
thinkingly as  a  bird  in  its  seasonal  migration.  She  sim- 
ply walked  and  found  herself  there.  Half  stupefied  she 
entered.  The  doctor  looked  up  from  his  desk. 

"Oh,  so !  Come  in  and  sit  down."  He  pushed  a  chair 
towards  her,  his  tone  and  manner  implying  that  he  had 
found  what  he  had  been  looking  for.  As  soon  as  she 
was  seated  he  began  with  assumed  earnestness,  "Well — 
now — I  have  spoken  to  my  friend,  but  he  already  has  an 
office  girl.  However,  give  me  your  name  and  ad- 
dress and  if  I  hear  of  anything  else,  I  will  let  you 
know." 

"Mildred  Mendel." 

He  wrote,  repeating: 

"Mildred  Mendel — a  very  nice  sounding  name.  Where 
do  you  live?" 


INDEPENDENCE  235 

"Rivington  Street."    She  gave  the  number. 

"You  live  with  a  friend,  don't  you?" 

"Yes.     Dora  Dakowsky." 

"D-a-k-o-w-s-k-y.    Are  you  Russian?" 

"No,  I'm  German — that  is,  my  mama  speaks——" 
She  halted  and  blushed. 

The  doctor  noticed  her  embarrassment,  but  deemed 
it  best  to  make  no  comment. 

As  he  seemed  to  have  no  more  questions  to  ask,  Min- 
nie rose  to  go;  and  the  doctor,  assuming  preoccupation, 
said: 

"Yes,  I  am  very  busy." 

Minnie  closed  the  door  behind  her  and  left  the  young 

man  biting  his  fingernails. 

****** 

He  had  no  position  for  her!  She  elbowed  her  way 
back  to  Rivington  Street  through  the  mad  throng  of  peo- 
ple, each  jostling  the  other  in  a  fierce  effort  to  arrive  as 
quickly  as  possible  at  his  destination.  Her  heart  ached 
with  a  corroding  sense  of  aloneness.  Nothing  seemed 
real.  The  incessant,  dinning  stir  on  the  street  had  no 
relation  to  her ;  these  people  seemed  busy  with  happiness. 
Purgatory  had  spilled  its  contents  upon  her  heart  alone. 
All  was  hopeless — black  for  her.  First  the  doctor  told 
her  to  come  every  day  and  promised  to  give  her  all  the 
money  she  needed  until  she  found  work ;  now  he  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  all  about  it.  No,  he  hadn't  forgotten ; 
he  just  hadn't  meant  what  he  said  in  the  first  place. 
She  had  been  afraid  of  him  because  he  had  taken  her  on 
his  knee.  How  foolish  she  had  been.  Why,  he  did  not 
even  remember  that  he  had  done  so.  He  had  forgotten 
her,  like  her  mother,  who  didn't  give  a  snap  of  her  fin- 
gers whether  her  child  lived  or  died ;  nor  did  her  sisters. 


236  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

And  her  stepfather  wanted  her  to  die.  She  wanted  to 
die  herself.  What  was  the  use  of  living? 

It  was  an  aged  little  woman  of  not  much  over  fifteen 
who  taught  the  Dakowsky  boarders  that  night  and,  later, 
listened  to  the  advice  of  Louis  "the  paintner"  to  try  the 
"Help  Wanted — Female"  columns  of  the  New  York 
World.  This  she  conscientiously  did,  but  without  results. 

Every  road  has  a  turning  where  the  sun  may  be  shin- 
ing. So  it  seemed  to  Minnie  when  the  next  morning  she 
found  a  postcard  in  the  letter-box  addressed  to  her. 

"Hochgesch'dtztes  Fraulein,"  the  card  began,  and  went 
on  to  say  that  if  she  would  come  to  the  office  of  the  doc- 
tor, she  would  learn  something  of  interest  to  her. 

She  ran  to  his  office  as  if  a  brake  had  been  lifted  from 
off  her  being  and  left  her  no  longer  subject  to  her  own 
volition.  She  arrived  with  cheeks  flushed,  and  dark  rings 
under  her  eyes,  her  lips  blue. 

"Well,  hello  there!"  the  doctor  greeted  her  as  if  she 
were  an  old  pal.  His  cordiality  only  emphasized  her 
loneliness.  The  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes ;  the  floor 
seemed  to  rise  and  sink.  She  wanted  to  cling  to  him  and 
beg  him  never  to  desert  her,  to  tell  him  she  was  afraid  of 
life.  But  she  only  dropped  silently  into  the  chair  he 
offered. 

"Well,  that's  a  nice  girl " 

She  burst  out  crying. 

Sincerely  astonished  and  affected,  the  doctor  leaned 
forward  and  touched  her  gently  on  the  knee. 

"What's  the  matter,  little  girl  ?"  The  tenderness  of  his 
voice  only  made  her  weep  the  more.  Raising  her  from 
the  chair,  he  took  her  on  his  knee,  removed  her  hat, 
stroked  her  hair,  kissed  her,  petted  her,  called  her  a 
"sweet  girl,"  "a  nice  child." 


INDEPENDENCE  237 

"I'll  give  you  money,"  he  said  tenderly.  "Will  five 
dollars  help  you?  You  haven't  had  enough  to  eat  in 
weeks."  He  felt  her  fleshless  hips  and  ribs  to  confirm  the 
truth  of  his  observation.  In  a  moment,  however,  he  set 
her  on  her  feet  and,  forcing  a  five-dollar  bill  in  her  hand, 
dismissed  her,  bidding  her,  as  if  against  his  will,  to  come 
again  at  the  same  hour  the  next  day. 

She  came  the  next  day  and  the  next  and  the  next.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  would  never  tire  of  holding  her  on  his 
knee,  now  pressing  her  tight,  now  releasing  her,  then 
kissing  and  pinching  her  as  if  to  nip  off  a  piece  of  flesh 
to  keep.  Minnie  could  not  understand  it  at  all.  But, 
since  nothing  happened  to  her,  she  grew  less  afraid,  and 
was  all  the  more  satisfied  when  on  asking  for  office  work 
he  told  her  that  what  she  was  doing  was  what  he  re- 
quired. He  paid  her  fifty  cents  a  day  and  kept  her  only 
a  short  time.  It  solved  the  problem  of  her  living.  She 
even  grew  happy. 

But  some  instinct  warned  her  not  to  mention  her  visits 
to  the  Dakowsky  household.  The  increase  in  her  in- 
come she  attributed  to  a  new  "scholar" ;  which  produced 
general  pleasure,  especially  as  she  appeared  at  table  for 
both  supper  and  breakfast. 

But  the  sun  must  go  down  even  after  a  new  rising. 
One  day  the  doctor  wanted  to  know  how  tall  she  was. 
A  good  method  was  the  comparative  one,  standing  back 
to  back,  then  front  to  front  before  a  long  looking-glass. 
But  this  was  not  accurate  enough  for  the  man  of  science ; 
a  better  way,  he  thought,  was  to  lie  down  on  the  couch, 
each  in  turn,  and  let  the  other  mark  head  and  foot  in 
pencil.  Minnie  entered  vivaciously  into  the  suggestion 
like  a  child  into  an  interesting  game.  But  when  she  lay 
stretched  out  on  the  couch  and  he  suddenly  took  her  in 


238  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

his  arms  and  smothered  her  with  fierce  kisses  so  thai 
she  felt  her  breath  leaving  her,  she  screamed.  The  doc- 
tor released  her  in  disgust. 

Like  a  mouse  stealing  back  to  its  hiding,  she  slunk  out 
on  the  street  and  ran  and  ran  until  she  reached  Riving- 
ton  Street. 


V 


She  would  have  to  tell  somebody,  or  else  something  in 
her  head  would  snap.  Wherever  she  turned,  the  doctor's 
blazing  eyes  stared  at  her  like  two  ghosts,  and  in  the  still- 
ness she  heard  his  labored  breathing.  Suddenly,  without 
warning,  someone  would  take  her  in  great  big  arms  and 
press  the  breath  out  of  her.  She  was  afraid  of  noises, 
she  was  afraid  of  the  quiet.  She  started  when  spoken 
to,  and  in  the  silence  heard  her  own  thoughts  uttered  out 
loud,  and  was  terrified  lest  someone  hear  them. 

The  following  evening,  while  giving  Louis  his  lesson, 
she  most  unexpectedly  burst  into  tears  and  with  the 
frankness  of  the  innocent  and  guileless  told  him  every- 
thing. She  made  one  intimate  confession  after  another, 
wholly  unconscious  that  the  man  she  was  talking  to  was 
as  much  of  a  stranger  to  her  as  the  doctor. 

Louis  could  not  credit  his  ears.  He  was  simply  amazed 
at  such  naivete  in  these  days  of  precociousness.  He  told 
her,  trying  to  keep  his  tone  dispassionate,  that  she  had 
done  right  to  scream  and  run  away  and  must  never  again 
go  to  the  doctor,  or  to  any  man  who  might  treat  her  like 
that. 

Her  intuitions  thus  borne  out,  she  felt  relieved  and  yet, 
somehow,  more  frightened. 

Louis'  eyes  thereafter   followed  her  gestures  with  a 


INDEPENDENCE  239 

look  in  them  that  had  not  been  there  before.  Her  con- 
fession had  suddenly  made  him  more  alive  to  her  physi- 
cal presence,  and  also  awoke  in  him  a  sense  of  proprietor- 
ship, which  led  him  from  now  on  to  invite  her  to  go  out 
walking  and  to  question  her  freely,  as  though  he  had  a 
right  to  know,  all  about  her  family  and  personal  affairs. 
She  refused  to  say  where  her  famliy  lived.  He  insisted 
that  the  confidence  was  due  him,  even  commanded  her 
dictatorially  to  tell;  but  Minnie,  afraid  he  might  divulge 
her  stress  to  her  people,  successfully  held  out  against  him. 

The  money  difficulty  rose  again  like  a  monster  now 
that  the  income  from  the  doctor  was  curtailed.  Louis, 
as  they  were  out  walking  one  evening,  insisted  that  she 
take  money  from  him.  She  refused.  Near  the  tenement, 
he  drew  a  five-dollar  bill  from  his  pocket  and  thrust  it 
down  the  bosom  of  her  dress.  In  the  contact  he  experi- 
enced an  exquisite  sense  of  desire.  He  hurried  her  into 
the  hall  and  up  the  stairs,  keeping  several  paces  behind 
and  discouraging  her  attempts  to  face  about  and  return 
the  money. 

Every  night  for  a  week  they  took  walks,  ostensibly  for 
her  to  have  a  chance  to  communicate  her  day's  experi- 
ences to  Louis,  whom  she  would  tell  of  her  attempts  and 
failures  with  the  disconsolateness  of  a  child.  When  the 
prospects  for  office  employment  seemed  very  dull,  Louis 
suggested  work  in  a  shop.  "It  will  do  temporarily,"  he 
said.  "Something  else  may  turn  up  later."  Minnie  gave 
him  a  queer  look.  But  what  had  become  of  her  resent- 
ment? 

They  were  passing  a  vacant  lot,  which  was  opposite 
the  Mendel  home  and  to  which  Minnie  had  led  Louis 
every  night.  She  fancied  that  if  a  light  shone  through 
the  window,  all  was  well  with  those  at  home.  If  there 


24o  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

was  no  light,  she  tortured  herself  and  spent  a  restless 
night.  This  evening  there  was  no  light,  so  that  gloomy 
misgivings  mingled  with  her  distress  over  her  own  situ- 
ation, and  she  walked  beside  Louis,  brooding.  Was  any- 
one sick?  Was  anyone  hurt?  Was  Beckie  all  right? 
Poor  little  Beckie,  how  hard  she  worked !  And  Ida,  too. 
How  well  the  children  could  use  a  little  more  money 
than  their  mother  allowed  them.  She,  Minnie,  might  be 
the  provider  of  that  little  more  money  if  she  took  work 
in  a  shop.  .  .  .  Her  soul  had  found  its  straw  and  clung 
to  it.  She  began  to  form  rosy  visions  of  herself  as  the 
good  Samaritan.  .  .  .  But  soon  an  ugly  voice  hooted — 
"A  shop!  A  shop!"  She  shuddered.  Her  blasted  ca- 
reer! A  heaviness  settled  upon  her  young  heart.  She 
had  aspired  to  a  college  education  and  a  profession.  She 
saw  now  that  life  was  hard  and  fate  defrauding. 

Louis  wondered  at  her  silence  and  her  tearful- 
ness. 

"I  hope  he  dies!"  she  suddenly  muttered,  gritting  her 
teeth. 

"What  did  you  say?"  Louis  asked. 

"I  hope  my  stepfather  dies!"  she  said,  then  fell  again 
into  stubborn  silence. 

Sometimes  Louis  the  "paintner"  could  not  make  Min- 
nie out.  She  might  be  suspected  of  having  "state  se- 
crets." She  was  a  queer  girl. 

VI 

One  morning  Louis  awoke  with  a  headache.  Emerg- 
ing from  the  front  room,  which  he  shared  with  another 
boarder,  to  make  the  railroad-car  trip  through  the  flat 
to  the  kitchen  for  his  breakfast,  he  passed  through  the 


INDEPENDENCE  241 

room  adjoining  occupied  by  the  girls.  Dora  and  her  sister 
were  up,  but  Minnie  still  lay  asleep,  her  bare  arms  raised 
over  her  head,  her  long  hair  strewn  over  both  shoulders, 
her  lips  slightly  parted.  An  expression  of  candor  and  in- 
nocence made  her  face  lovely  in  repose.  Louis  hurried  on 
through  the  next  room  occupied  by  two  more  boarders, 
through  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dakowsky's  bedroom,  to  the 
kitchen,  where  the  fifth  boarder  slept. 

After  breakfast  all  the  boarders  except  Louis  left  for 
work ;  he  lingered,  divided  between  the  inclination  to 
give  the  day  to  nursing  his  not  very  severe  headache  and 
the  inclination  to  disregard  it  and  go  to  work.  The 
tempter  won.  He  remained  at  home.  Then  Louis  was 
torn  by  two  conflicting  hopes,  that  the  missus  would  leave 
to  help  her  husband  in  the  butcher  shop  and  that  she 
would  not  leave. 

When  he  reached  Minnie's  room  on  his  way  back  to 
bed,  she  had  turned  to  one  side,  and  her  white  neck  and 
chest  were  exposed.  Slipping  into  his  own  room  hastily, 
he  shut  the  door  tight  and  lay  down.  Soon  he  was 
asleep. 

Minnie  awoke  at  half -past  seven.  She  put  on  the 
barest  amount  of  clothing,  and  hastened  out  for  a  copy 
of  the  New  York  World.  Mrs.  Dakowsky  left  at  the 
same  time  for  the  butcher  shop.  "Put  a  shawl  over  your 
head ;  it's  raining,"  she  said.  Minnie  disregarded  her  ad- 
vice, as  there  was  a  news-stand  close  by.  But  this  news- 
stand had  already  sold  all  its  copies  of  the  World,  and 
she  had  to  go  a  long  block  to  and  fro  in  the  rain,  and 
came  back  drenched. 

Standing  before  the  looking-glass  in  the  bedroom,  she 
removed  her  outer  clothes  and  let  down  her  hair  to 
dry.  Suddenly  the  door  of  the  front  room  opened,  and 


242  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

the  reflection  of  Louis  appeared  in  the  glass.  She  gasped. 
He  shut  the  door  hastily.  Rummaging  nervously  for  a 
dry  blouse  in  a  box  on  the  floor,  which  contained  her 
worldly  possessions,  she  put  it  on  quickly,  pinned  her  hair 
up,  and  hurried  out  of  the  room  into  the  kitchen,  where 
she  spread  the  newspaper  on  the  table  and  tried  to  fix 
her  attention  upon  the  help-wanted  columns. 

If  only  it  weren't  raining,  she  reflected,  she  would  go 
right  out  so  as  not  to  have  to  meet  Louis  again.  She 
was  sure  he  had  seen  her,  and  she  was  sure  he  shouldn't 
have  seen  her  with  her  waist  off.  But  maybe  he  hadn't 
seen  her,  maybe  he  had  shut  the  door  so  excitedly  because 
she  had  screamed.  Oh,  it  made  her  sick — everything  had 
to  happen  to  her.  .  .  .  But  he  was  only  Louis  the  "paint- 
ner" ;  it  didn't  matter.  Yet  she  was  not  convinced  that 
it  did  not  matter. 

Louis,  in  shirt  sleeves,  soon  appeared  in  the  kitchen. 
He  said  good  morning  gruffly,  with  averted  eyes,  and 
went  straight  to  the  sink  to  wash  himself.  Her  eyes 
followed  him  to  the  front  room,  to  which  he  returned 
for  the  towel  he  had  forgotten.  He  remained  behind  the 
closed  door  about  five  minutes,  then  reappeared  in  the 
kitchen. 

Minnie,  her  heart  palpitating,  summoned  up  enough 
self-possession  to  inquire  how  he  came  to  be  at  home. 
He  explained,  still  avoiding  her  eyes.  As  there  was  a 
purplish  flush  on  his  large  face  and  deep  rings  under  his 
eyes,  Minnie  concluded  that  he  had  a  "splitting  head- 
ache," the  only  kind,  according  to  her  notions,  that  jus- 
tified one  in  staying  away  from  work.  She  grew  sympa- 
thetic. 

"I  wish  I  could  do  something  for  you,"  she  said,  though 
it  was  hard  for  her  to  speak  because  Louis  seemed  greatly 


INDEPENDENCE  243 

constrained  and  acted  as  if  he  preferred  not  to  have  to 
look  at  her. 

"You  could  rub  my  forehead,  or  kiss  it,"  he  suggested, 
smiling.  "Kiss"  recalled  the  doctor  and  Louis'  own  ad- 
vice. Louis  observed  her  change  color  and  to  reassure 
her,  added  jokingly :  "That's  what  they  do  for  children — 
kiss  them  where  it  hurts."  She  dropped  her  eyes,  and 
for  a  while  there  was  silence.  "What  are  you  doing?" 
he  asked,  moving  closer  to  the  table,  though  wishing  he 
could  keep  away.  He  fumbled  with  an  edge  of  the  news- 
paper. "It's  too  rainy  to-day  for  you  to  go  out.  Stay 
right  home,"  he  said.  She  looked  out  of  the  window. 
The  rain  was  coming  down  in  sheets.  He  moved  still 
closer  and  leaned  over  the  newspaper.  "Let's  see,"  he 
said,  "what  kind  of  a  teacher  you  are  by  the  way  I  can 
read  the  paper."  He  read  laboriously,  stumbling  over 
the  "ths"  until  Minnie,  tired  of  repeating  corrections, 
tore  the  paper  away  from  him  and  told  him,  laughingly, 
to  "stop  bothering"  her.  Louis  flushed,  and  in  his  turn 
snatched  the  paper  away  from  her.  They  laughed  into 
each  other's  eyes.  Minnie  grabbed  for  the  paper.  Louis, 
holding  it  out  of  her  reach,  got  up  from  his  chair  and 
let  a  surreptitious,  covetous  glance  sweep  over  the  grace- 
ful lines  of  her  young  figure.  He  dangled  the  paper  just 
out  of  her  reach,  and  they  wrestled  and  laughed,  until 
suddenly,  to  her  amazement,  Minnie  felt  herself  enfolded 
in  the  mighty  arms  of  Louis,  who  stifled  her  with  kisses 
and  murmured  breathlessly: 

"I  love  you — I  love  you — I  love " 

She  struggled  like  an  animal  in  a  trap,  twisting  and 
turning  in  his  embrace  and  hitting  out  at  random — here 
— there — with  her  fists,  against  his  shoulders,  his  chin, 
his  ear,  his  neck,  his  mouth,  and  finally,  without  knowing 


244  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

what  she  was  doing,  giving  him  a  blow  in  the  eye.  At 
shock  of  the  pain  he  loosened  his  hold,  and  she  wrenched 
herself  free  and  rushed  from  the  house. 


VII 


She  dashed  pellmell  up  one  street  and  down  another, 
tears  of  terror  choking  her.  The  whole  world  seemed 
traitor  and  all  strangers  hateful,  and  in  the  eyes  of  all 
she  saw  evil  design  lurking.  She  was  gripped  by  a  fren- 
zied desire  to  see  her  sisters — her  mother!  anyone  not  a 
hard  cruel  stranger.  Like  one  gone  mad  she  ran  to  the 
school  that  Ida  and  Beckie  attended  and  stationed  her- 
self in  a  vestibule  of  a  house  opposite  from  where  she 
breathlessly  watched  the  school  exits.  In  the  violence  of 
her  fright  and  in  the  face  of  greater  disloyalty  her  fam- 
ily* loomed  up  as  loyalty  incarnate.  One's  own,  one's 
own  !  How  hateful  strangers  were ! 

Three  long  hours  passed,  and  still  she  stood  waiting. 
A  whole  day  seemed  to  be  going  by.  By  the  time  the 
lunch  gong  sounded,  her  eyes  were  fairly  popping  from 
her  head.  At  last  the  gates  opened,  and  children  began 
to  emerge.  Minnie  craned  her  neck  and  fairly  devoured 
each  child  form  with  her  gaze.  Finally  the  right  one 
flashed  upon  her. 

"Beckie!    Beckie!"  she  called  wildly. 

At  the  sound  of  her  name  Beckie  looked  around  in  be- 
wilderment. The  moment  seemed  endless  to  Minnie. 
Then  Beckie's  eyes  lighted  upon  her  sister  waving  her 
hand  frantically,  and  she  darted  across  the  street  into 
her  arms. 


INDEPENDENCE  245 

"Where  are  you  all  the  time?"  There  was  the  baby- 
ish plaintiveness  in  her  voice  that  Minnie  loved.  She 
stroked  Beckie's  hair  and  pressed  her  cheek  against  hers 
passionately  murmuring  tender  nothings. 

"Mama  is  looking  for  you  all  the  time,  and  she 
cries "  said  Beckie. 

So  her  mother  had  been  worrying  about  her  after  all  f 
Minnie  felt  a  brief  glow  of  satisfaction,  instantly  dissi- 
pated by  regret  that  her  mother,  too,  had  suffered. 

"Does  mama  look  for  me?"  she  asked. 

"She  did ;  she  don't  no  more,"  said  Beckie,  who  sensed 
Minnie's  pain  and  meant  to  spare  her. 

Minnie's  heart  sank.  She  had  been  gone  so  long,  she 
reflected  bitterly,  that  her  absence  no  longer  mattered. 
Tears  for  herself  hung  on  her  eyelids. 

"How  is  Jacob?"  she  brought  out  presently. 

"He  left  the  house  for  good.  He's  by  Uncle  David." 
Uncle  David  was  the  sympathetic  relative  who  had  be- 
friended the  family  in  past  years. 

The  news  fairly  staggered  Minnie  and  convinced  her 
that  their  mother  was  no  longer  a  mother ;  she  cared  for 
no  one  but  Leopold.  A  sickening  sense  of  utter  de- 
sertion seized  the  girl. 

"How  does  Uncle  Leopold  treat  you?" 

Beckie  rolled  her  eyes  to  express  contempt  and  com- 
plaint. 

"He's  a  regular  foreman.    I  hate  him." 

"Goodness,"  Minnie  cried,  "so  he  still  makes  you  work 
too  hard?" 

Beckie  nodded  her  head. 

"I've  accomplished  nothing  by  going  away !"  cut  sharp 
as  a  dagger  through  Minnie's  consciousness. 


246  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"There's  Ida,"  cried  Beckie,  spying  her  sister.  "Ida! 
Ida!"  she  called. 

Ida,  though  as  surprised  as  Beckie  had  been  to  see 
Minnie,  crossed  the  street  leisurely.  She  had  made  up 
her  mind  long  ago  that  if  by  any  chance  she  met  her  run- 
away sister  she  would  ignore  her. 

"Beckie,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  studiously  turned 
away  from  Minnie,  "come  home  to  dinner.  It's  late 
already." 

Minnie  stepped  toward  her. 

"Ida,  aren't  you  glad  to  see  me?" 

"No,"  Ida  cried,  "you  abused  mama  and  ran  away  to 
have  it  easy  and  we  got  to  do  your  work,  too." 

It  had  never  occurred  to  Minnie  that  such  an  interpre- 
tation could  be  put  upon  her  conduct.  She  was  struck 
dumb. 

Ida  took  hold  of  Beckie's  hand  to  pull  her  away. 

"I — thought — he  would  be  better  to  you "  Minnie 

at  last  managed  to  say,  hardly  conscious  that  she  was 
speaking. 

"Better  ?  We  got  to  do  your  work  now,  too.  Better !" 
Ida  was  vastly  contemptuous.  "Come  on,"  she  cried, 
jerking  at  Beckie. 

Minnie  recovered  some  of  her  self-possession. 

"Go  on,  Beckie  dear,"  she  said  huskily,  "you'll  be  late 
for  dinner."  Through  the  tears  in  her  eyes  the  two  girls 
were  merged  into  one,  in  the  shape  of  Louis. 

Beckie,  lingering  with  Minnie,  cried: 

"I  want  to  stay  by  you." 

'rNo, "  Minnie  could  say  no  more. 

Ida  forced  Beckie  down  the  steps. 

"You'll  hurt  her!"  Minnie  called. 


INDEPENDENCE  '  247 

"Yeh,  and  if  she  has  to  do  your  work,  it  don't  hurt 
her?" 

Minnie  looked  down  on  Ida  with  something  in  her 
eyes  that  compelled  attention. 

"You  mustn't  say  that,  Ida,"  she  said,  "I  took  your 
part — it's  wrong " 

"Highfalutin  talk!  Crazy,  high-tone  lady!"  inter- 
rupted Ida.  "Come  on,  Beckie !"  Beckie  threw  Minnie  a 
kiss  and  called :  "Come  to  see  me  soon  again."  Minnie 
nodded  her  head.  She  watched  the  small,  retreating  fig- 
ures with  a  leaden  heart.  When  they  were  out  of  sight, 
a  bleak  sense  of  utter  aloneness  overpowered  her.  With 
heavy  steps,  drearily,  getting  drenched  to  the  skin,  she 
retraced  her  steps  to  the  Rivington  Street  tenement, 
where  her  space  on  the  Dakowsky  pillow  was  paid  for. 


VIII 

Sarah's  heart  gave  one  great  leap  of  relief  when  Ida 
and  Beckie  brought  their  news. 

Minnie  had  even  behaved  like  a  "high-tone  lady"  and 
had  said  "highfalutin"  things,  Ida  told  her.  Sure  signs 
of  normality.  How  happy  the  mother  felt,  what  balm 
came  to  her  heart!  She  laughed  and  wiped  tears  from 
her  eyes. 

But  had  Ida  or  Beckie  got  her  address?  No?  How 
had  it  not  occurred  to  them  to  get  it?  Such  childish 
forget  fulness!  However,  Minnie  was  alive  and  well. 
Nothing  else  mattered  much.  They  would  probably  see 
her  again.  Then  they  must  not  fail  to  get  her  address. 

Once  more  the  sky  looked  blue  to  Sarah.  It  was  pos- 
sible to  shed  tears  of  gratitude  as  a  change  from  tears  of 


248  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

grief.  Her  happiness  showed  in  kindness  to  the  children 
and  deference  to  Leopold.  When  she  visited  Jacob,  she 
took  him  into  her  confidence  upon  this  matter  and  that 
with  an  eagerness  as  if  he  were  a  newly  discovered  pal. 

IX 

Left  alone,  Louis,  in  terrible  remorse,  restlessly  paced 
up  and  down  the  length  of  the  railroad  flat.  The  heavy 
flesh  of  his  face  had  fallen  into  massive  wrinkles,  and  his 
small  eyes,  glistening  with  unshed  tears,  seemed  even 
smaller.  Burly  Louis,  so  innately  gentle  that  he  would 
not  have  hurt  the  meanest  thing,  had  mortally  offended 
his  "teacherin !"  He  bit  his  lips  in  mortification  and 
wished  he  could  live  the  last  few  hours  over  again. 
Finally  the  creak  of  his  heavy  boots  on  the  bare  floors 
irritated  his  nerves,  and  he  seated  himself  on  a  chair  in 
the  kitchen  and  chewed  his  black-rimmed  finger-nails, 
as  he  gazed  hard  at  a  bit  of  dark  sky  visible  from  the 
tenement  window.  The  childlike  face  of  frightened  Min- 
nie haunted  him;  he  was  full  of  shame,  was  disgusted 
with  himself,  particularly  when  he  recalled  the  warning 
he  had  given  her  against  the  doctor.  And  his  helpless- 
ness to  undo  his  evil  deed,  to  set  himself  right  again  in 
her  eyes,  filled  him  with  anguish. 

Passing  his  big  paint-smeared  hand  across  his  eyes  to 
dry  them,  he  rose  and  went  out  of  the  house.  In  the 
ground-floor  hall  he  drew  out  his  bluish-white  handker- 
chief and  wiped  his  eyes  again,  then,  hiding  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  out  of  disgust  with  the  sight  of  his  own  flesh, 
he  went  to  the  front  door  and  glanced  up  and  down  the 
street.  No  Minnie  to  be  seen.  After  a  long  vigil  he  went 
in  search  of  her,  looking  into  doorways  and  up  and  down 


INDEPENDENCE  249 

cross  streets.  The  rain  penetrated  his  light-weight  suit, 
and  after  he  had  gone  a  number  of  blocks  he  returned  to 
his  room  and  stationed  himself  at  the  window  to  watch 
for  each  passerby.  After  another  long  vigil,  he  went 
downstairs  again.  At  last,  from  the  vestibule,  he  saw 
Minnie  returning  slowly,  her  wet  clothes  clinging  to  her 
slight  frame.  His  heart  began  a  nervous  turmoil  and  he 
wondered  what  he  ought  to  do,  whether  to  let  her  see  him 
or  to  hide.  He  hid  behind  the  stairs. 

Minnie  lingered  at  the  curb  in  front  of  the  house, 
afraid  to  go  in.  The  rain  came  down  in  torrents.  Fi- 
nally, with  a  convulsive  shudder,  she  went  into  the  vesti- 
bule and  leaned  wearily  against  the  side  wall.  She  stood 
so  still  for  so  long  a  time  that  Louis  peeped  warily  from 
out  of  his  hiding-place  to  assure  himself  that  she  was 
there.  He  rubbed  his  large  hands  in  and  out  of  each 
other;  the  lines  of  his  face  deepened  with  loathing  of 
himself  and  the  instinct  that  had  betrayed  his  better  self. 

A  fierce  gust  swept  the  vestibule.  Minnie  drew  hastily 
into  the  hall.  In  the  suddenness  of  her  movement,  a 
dizziness  that  she  had  felt  before  but  only  faintly,  came 
upon  her  with  force.  She  groaned,  staggered  to  the 
stairs,  and  sank  down. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Louis  cried,  rushing  from  his 
hiding-place  and  bending  over  her. 

His  voice  came  from  a  great  distance — it  was  not  real 
— all  reality  merged  in  a  black  blur.  Louis  shook  Min- 
nie with  trembling  hands.  She  came  to  in  a  few  mo- 
ments and  looked  up  at  him.  Her  deathly  pallor  agonized 
him.  He  gathered  her  up  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  to 
the  flat,  where  he  placed  her  on  the  lounge,  rubbed  her 
with  vinegar  and  dashed  cold  water  in  her  face.  When 
she  came  to,  she  drew  away  from  him  in  alarm. 


250  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  he  pleaded,  with  such  earnestness 
and  such  an  honest  shining  of  his  eyes  that  her  wits 
played  her  false,  and  she  wondered  whether  she  had 
dreamed  the  morning's  incident.  Then  Ida  was  the  one 
who  was  saying:  "Don't  be  afraid."  Louis'  burly  self 
seemed  to  be  in  her  sister's  guise.  "Don't  be  afraid," 
Ida  kept  saying. 

Louis  used  a  quantity  of  vinegar  that  would  have  over- 
come a  dozen  faints.  He  got  ice  from  the  ice-box  and 
applied  it  with  masculine  awkwardness  to  her  temples ; 
and  when  she  was  recovered,  he  helped  her  to  her  frac- 
tion of  a  bed,  where,  left  alone,  too  tired,  too  sick  to 
think,  she  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep. 


X 


At  the  supper  table,  to  prevent  suspicion  of  their 
strained  relationship,  Louis  was,  for  him,  garrulous.  Had 
anyone  else,  he  asked,  observed  what  a  pretty  young  lady 
they  had  with  them  ?  When  had  she  applied  the  paint  ? — 
a  reference  to  Minnie's  flushed  cheeks.  He  winked  at 
her  out  of  sheer  awkwardness  and  caused  general  amuse- 
ment. Did  they  all  notice  how  silent  she  could  be  when 
she  had  nothing  to  say,  and  was  there  greater  wisdom 
than  that? 

When  she  happened  to  look  up  at  him,  he  turned  his 
eyes  away  quickly,  with  a  pained  expression. 

After  supper  he  invited  her,  as  usual,  to  take  a  walk 
with  him,  brushing  aside  her  hesitation  in  the  dictatorial 
way  he  had  assumed. 

"Go  on,  go,  get  your  hat,"  he  said,  touching  her  on  the 
elbow. 


INDEPENDENCE  251 

Mrs.  Dakowsky,  looking  on,  wished  it  was  Dora  that 
was  Louis  "the  paintner's"  favorite. 

On  the  street  Louis  at  once  communicated  to  Minnie 
a  plan  at  which  he  had  arrived  while  she  was  sleeping  off 
her  indisposition  and  he  was  keeping  strictly  in  the 
kitchen,  careful  not  to  pass  through  her  room  even  for  a 
badly  needed  handkerchief.  She  ought  to  move  from  the 
Dakowskys',  was  his  verdict ;  sleeping  with  two  others  in 
a  small  bed  in  a  small  room  was  no  life.  This  eating 
once  and  skipping  twice  was  nothing  short  of  lunacy. 
She  should  live  with  friends  of  his  on  Madison  Street, 
who  had  no  other  boarders  and  only  one  child  and  would 
treat  her  well. 

While  he  was  giving  this  altruistic  advice,  a  voice 
within  said:  "You  yourself  should  go  away.  By  a  pre- 
tended favor  to  her  you  are  removing  temptation  from 
yourself.  Strangers  are  strangers  all  over.  For  no 
money  Mrs.  Argush  will  be  no  better  than  Mrs.  Dakow- 
sky. Sleeping  in  the  kitchen  of  a  two-room  tenement  is 
as  bad  as  one-third  of  a  bed  in  a  bedroom.  But  Louis 
rooted  this  sentimentality  out  of  his  mind.  Since  he  and 
Minnie  could  not  stay  under  the  same  roof  without  dan- 
ger to  both  of  them,  the  one  to  move  might  as  well  be 
the  younger  person,  to  whom  a  change  did  not  mean  so 
great  a  hardship. 

To  Minnie — perverse  is  human  nature — the  wretched 
Dakowsky  habitation  when  about  to  be  denied  her  rose 
desirable  as  a  palace  and  as  hard  to  part  from  as  life  it- 
self. She  turned  pale  and  quivered.  To  go  again  to  a 
strange  home  loomed  up  as  a  horror  and  she  repented, 
oh,  so  earnestly,  anything  she  might  have  done  to  pro- 
voke Louis  into  taking  such  a  stringent  measure  for  her 
punishment. 


252  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

She  turned  a  mournful,  pinched  face  up  to  him,  mak- 
ing a  heart-rending  sight,  from  which  he  had  to  avert  his 
eyes.  With  mingled  emotions  he  guided  her,  neverthe- 
less, against  a  raw,  biting  wind,  to  Madison  Street,  where 
he  stopped  in  front  of  a  closed  shop.  "You  had  better 
stand  in  the  doorway,"  he  said,  "safe  from  the  wind.  I 
will  go  to  see  if  my  friends  are  still  up.  It  is  after  ten 
o'clock  and  they  may  just  be  in  bed."  She  was  too 
choked  to  assent  or  dissent ;  and  when  he  returned  pres- 
ently with  the  information  that  the  Argushes  were  up 
and  she  was  accepted  as  a  boarder,  she  hung  her  head 
and  followed  him  dumbly. 

A  familiar  aspect  of  the  vestibule  roused  her  from  her 
lethargy.  She  hung  back  from  Louis,  her  heart  beating 
rapidly,  and  tried  to  make  out  the  blurred  numbers  on 
the  door.  There  could  be  no  mistaking  them — they  were 
worn,  but  the  same — it  was  The  House  of  the  Schlopo- 
borsky  Cellar!  She  clapped  her  hand  to  her  eyes  and 
screamed.  Louis  faced  round  quickly. 

"What's  the  matter?    Does  anything  hurt  you?" 

She  was  alarmed  into  docility. 

"Nothing — nothing  hurts  me."  Louis  was  relieved. 
"The  wind  is  blowing  hard,"  he  said  and,  taking  her  by 
the  elbow,  led  her  in. 


XI 


Most  of  her  bag  and  baggage  being  on  her  person  and 
Louis  undertaking  to  explain  to  the  Dakowsky  missus, 
there  was  no  reason,  all  agreed,  why  Minnie  should  not 
remain  with  the  Argushes  that  very  night. 

Louis  had  prepared  the  good  Argushes  to  meet  a  girl 


INDEPENDENCE  253 

"smart  like  anything,"  but  as  Minnie's  monosyllabic  re- 
plies hardly  bore  out  his  boast,  he  felt  obliged  to  explain. 
"Wait,"  he  said,  "till  she  sleeps  herself  out.  You  will 
see,  she  is  as  smart  as  I  say."  Minnie  lowered  her  eyes 
as  he  smiled  upon  her.  Mr.  Argush,  spitting  out  threads 
of  tobacco  from  the  end  of  his  cigarette  and  scattering 
the  smoke,  laughed  a  merry  laugh,  his  face  wrinkling  and 
dimpling.  In  Louis'  protectiveness  of  Minnie  he  saw 
the  huge  joke  of  matrimonial  intent. 

Minnie  yawned.  Mr.  Argush  pulled  out  his  big  gold 
watch  by  its  heavy  gold  chain  and  held  it  up  to  Louis. 
If  Minnie,  he  said,  was  to  have  the  chance  to  "sleep  her- 
self out"  into  her  greater  "smartness,"  Louis  had  better 
let  her  go  to  bed;  whereupon  Louis,  in  preparation  for 
departure,  spat  out  the  remnant  of  his  cigarette  into  the 
sink.  On  the  way  to  the  door  he  smuggled  a  five-dollar 
bill  into  Mrs.  Argush's  hand  and  asked  her  in  a  whis- 
per to  insist  upon  Minnie's  eating.  He  left,  urging  Min- 
nie to  feel  at  home. 

After  a  moment  of  stiff  silence — the  moment  of  read- 
justment— Mrs.  Argush  proposed  that  she  and  her  hus- 
band immediately  remove  from  under  the  bed  in  the  bed- 
room the  cot  upon  which  Minnie  was  to  sleep  in  the 
room-of -all-affairs.  She  lighted  a  candle  and  held  it  for 
him  while  he,  on  his  knees,  proceeded  to  shove  aside 
one  obstructing  article  after  another.  Mrs.  Argush's 
chiding  of  him  for  making  too  much  noise — she  was 
afraid  the  baby  in  the  crib  would  be  awakened — made 
Minnie  quiver  with  the  agony  of  a  sensitive  intruder. 
At  last  the  cot  was  extricated  from  the  tangle  under  the 
bed.  Mr.  Argush,  scrambling  up,  called  his  wife's  at- 
tention to  the  melted  grease  trickling  down  her  apron 
from  the  lighted  candle,  and  whisked  her  under  the  chin. 


254  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Mrs.  Argush  blew  out  the  candle,  put  it  away  in  a  closet 
over  the  sink,  and  the  two  energetically  proceeded  to 
push  the  table  and  the  chairs  to  one  side  to  make  room 
for  the  cot. 

Minnie,  hovering  rather  than  sitting  on  her  chair,  was 
tortured  as  to  whether  or  not  she  should  help ;  she  might 
only  be  in  the  way  if  she  did;  and  if  she  didn't,  they 
might  think  she  was  unwilling.  Each  moment  her  sen- 
sitiveness heightened,  for  they  were  having  difficulty 
with  the  cot;  the  legs  at  one  end  set  up,  the  legs  at 
the  other  end  shut  down.  At  last  it  was  adjusted  and 
the  perspiring  Mr.  Argush  and  his  spouse  turned  to  go 
to  the  bedroom,  he  to  disrobe,  she  to  weed  out  spare 
bedding  for  Minnie. 

They  had  scarcely  reached  the  threshold  of  the  other 
room  when  the  cot  crumpled  up  with  a  bang.  With  a 
resigned  sigh  they  turned  back. 

"Oh,  it's  going  to  be  a  big  bother  to  you !"  cried  Min- 
nie, who  had  started  from  her  seat  in  the  keenest  dis- 
tress. 

For  a  moment — a  moment  of  torture  to  Minnie — they 
were  too  preoccupied  to  reply.  Then  they  cried  in  duet 
with  great  sincerity:  "No,  no!" 

"Nu,  sure  it's  no  bother.  What  kind  of  a  bother?" 
added  Mr.  Argush.  "Does  the  cot  ask  for  food?  Does 
the  landlord  want  extra  rent?  Is  this  room  not  wholly 
to  spare?"  He  raised  his  laughing  eyes  to  Minnie;  she 
was  set  at  rest.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Argush  were  not  yet  pos- 
sessors of  so  much  as  to  feel  that  they  had  nothing  to 
spare. 

The  cot  once  more  planted  on  its  four  legs,  Mr.  Ar- 
gush tested  it  with  his  full  weight.  Satisfied  it  was  now 
secure,  Mrs.  Argush  brought  bedding;  and  with  a  kind 


INDEPENDENCE  255 

good-night  to  Minnie,  husband  and  wife  retired  to  their 
six-feet  square  of  privacy. 

****** 

Nothing  but  the  flooring  under  her  feet  separated 
Minnie  from  the  Schlopoborsky  cellar!  She  marveled 
at  this  with  youthful  intensity.  If  her  mother  only  knew ! 
Oh,  goodness,  what  in  the  world  was  going  to  happen 
to  her  next !  Louis  had  had  no  right  to  bring  her  here. 
But  he  did  not  know  it  was  the  house  of  the  Schlopo- 
borsky cellar.  Why  hadn't  she  told  him?  Why  could 
she  make  a  hullabaloo  when  others  were  concerned  and 
always  remained  dumb  for  herself? 

As  she  raised  her  hand  to  turn  out  the  gas-light,  her 
burning  eyes  were  caught  by  a  bright  calendar  on  which 
a  gaudy,  bare-bosomed  young  woman  advertised  Neces- 
sity Biscuits  of  the  Titanic  Biscuit  Company;  and  after 
she  had  gone  to  bed  the  vision  danced  before  her  in  the 
dark  in  brilliant  shades  of  red  and  yellow  until  she  fell 
into  a  doze,  from  which  she  awoke  in  a  few  min- 
utes with  a  start,  tearing  herself  from  the  arms  of  Louis 
and  straining  her  neck  to  keep  her  lips  out  of  reach  of 
his  fierce  kisses.  She  lay  awake  for  some  time,  so  ner- 
vous that  she  dared  not  turn  on  her  bed.  Then  she  fell 
asleep  again,  and  wrestled  throughout  the  night  with 
Necessity  Biscuits,  brazen,  bare-bosomed  women,  Louis, 
cots  tumbling  from  great  heights  to  great  depths,  a  cold 
stove  in  a  gray  cellar,  home,  mother,  Ida,  bands,  high 
school. 


XII 


She  awoke  early  in  the  morning  and  lay  quietly  in 
bed  while  recollections  of  the  previous  day  and  night 


256  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

filtered  through  her  mind,  faint,  at  first,  blurred,  unreal, 
then  with  greater  vividness,  until  her  brain  was  entirely 
cleared  of  her  troubled  sleep  and  the  reality,  hard  and 
bitter,  thrust  itself  upon  her.  She  could  no  longer  teach 
the  Dakowsky  boarders;  consequently  she  would  have 
no  source  of  income;  so  what  in  the  world  was  to  be- 
come of  her?  She  stared  blankly  into  space,  her  whole 
being  enveloped  in  a  cloud.  All  seemed  utterly  hope- 
less, and  she  utterly  helpless.  From  sheer  impotence  she 
turned  from  side  to  side  upon  the  cot.  Again  her  eyes 
fell  upon  the  brazen,  bare-bosomed  lady  of  the  Titanic 
Biscuit  Company  calendar.  She  studied  it  mechanically. 
In  tfie  lower  left-hand  corner  was  the  picture  of  a  huge 
plant;  in  the  lower  right-hand  corner,  of  an  office  with 
girls  bending  over  desks.  An  unconscious  something 
kept  her  eyes  riveted  on  the  right-hand  corner.  An  in- 
spiration dived  through  her  mind.  She  would  try  to  get 

a  position  in  that  office !  "I'll  get  right  up "  But  she 

was  afraid  of  rousing  the  Argushes.  Then  came  a  coun- 
ter-fear; the  Argushes  might  insist  upon  her  eating 
breakfast  even  though  she  had  no  money  to  pay  for  it; 
and,  determined  to  avoid  this,  she  jumped  up  and  began 
to  dress.  Just  as  she  was  ready  to  leave,  Mrs.  Argush, 
in  her  night  regalia  of  a  torn  waist  and  a  skimpy  petti- 
coat, appeared  upon  the  threshold  between  the  two  rooms. 

"What  are  you  doing  up  so  early?"  she  whispered, 
stepping  farther  into  the  room-of-all-affairs. 

Minnie  timidly  imparted  her  intentions. 

"But  it's  too  early,  it's  only  six  o'clock." 

Even  if  it  was  too  early  to  go  out,  she  had  somehow 
to  escape  consumption  of  a  breakfast  without  pay. 

"Maybe  it's  not  so  early,"  she  replied  nervously,  mov- 
ing toward  the  door. 


INDEPENDENCE  257 

The  baby  stirred.  Mrs.  Argush  turned  to  listen.  Min- 
nie slipped  out,  and  was  already  at  the  hall  door  when 
Mrs.  Argush  discovered  her  flight  and  called  in  astonish- 
ment: 

"You  haven't  eaten  any  breakfast." 

There !    What  a  satisfaction  to  have  escaped ! 

"I  don't  want  breakfast.    Good-by !" 

Mrs.  Argush  remained  staring  at  the  closed  door. 

"A  me  en  mudner  mensch!"  (a  queer  person)  she  mut- 
tered, and  returned  to  her  spouse  and  baby,  puzzled  by 
Louis'  choice. 

Outdoors  a  fresh  breeze  was  blowing.  The  streets 
wore  an  air  of  Sabbath  cleanliness,  and  to  the  early  hour 
was  due  a  peaceful  quiet.  Here  and  there  an  energetic 
housewife  appeared  in  a  doorway  with  a  can  of  ashes  or 
rubbish  to  deposit  in  a  barrel,  and  here  and  there  a  toiler 
in  a  "busy  season"  trade  emerged  to  go  to  work.  Scared 
by  the  silence  and  the  gray  light,  Minnie  walked  cau- 
tiously, as  if  to  avoid  drawing  attention  to  herself.  The 
sight  of  a  policeman  swinging  his  club  to  the  whistled 
tune  of  Annie  Laurie,  reminded  her  that  she  needed  to 
be  directed  to  the  Titanic  Biscuit  Company.  The  big 
man's  eyes  twinkled  down  on  the  timid  little  questioner. 

"Je  fall  out  of  bed?" 

The  joke  missed  Minnie,  who,  completely  possessed  by 
this  new  possibility  of  obtaining  office  work,  was  in  no 
mood  for  fun. 

The  factory  was  at  the  extreme  West  Side  of  the 
metropolis,  and  by  the  time  Minnie  reached  the  place,  her 
excitement,  mounting  with  each  step  she  took,  had  risen 
to  fever  heat. 

A  timid  knocking  on  his  office  door  roused  the  super- 


258  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

intendent  of  the  Titanic  Biscuit  Company.  He  turned 
his  heavy  body  on  the  revolving-chair  and  called :  "Come 
in."  Minnie  started  back  at  the  sight  of  the  man  facing 
her.  His  chin  and  lower  jaw,  protruding  like  a  slightly 
open  drawer,  gave  him  the  ferocious  aspect  of  the  pro- 
verbial villain.  "Come  in,  come  in,"  he  growled,  rubbing 
a  rheumatic  leg,  which  that  morning  had  serious  designs 
against  the  serenity  of  his  temper.  She  advanced  into  the 
room  and  stood  like  a  sinner  on  Judgment  Day  before 
this  Almighty.  "Well,  what  do  you  want?"  he  growled 
again.  That  mean  leg  would  get  the  better  of  him  and 
inject  gruffness  into  his  voice  though  he  meant  to  be 
pleasant  to  the  timid  child. 

"Work — work  in  your  office." 

"Got  any  experience?" 

"No,  sir." 

He  seemed  to  measure  the  impertinence  of  her  request 
for  work  in  an  office  against  her  youthful  body,  which 
shrank  under  his  gaze.  She  was  ready  to  run,  to  cry  out 
when  she  was  startled  by  a  sharp  sound.  The  gentle- 
man had  rung  a  bell.  She  looked  to  the  right  and  to  the 
left  for  a  means  of  escape  from  the  policeman  summoned 
to  throw  her  out.  She  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

"We  have  no  position  for  you  in  the  office,  we  can 
give  you  work  in  the  factory.  Experience  not  needed. 
Satisfied?" 

Minnie,  not  knowing  what  she  did,  nodded. 

The  door  opened.  A  man  of  immense  size,  with  sleeves 
rolled  up  displaying  tremendous  muscles,  appeared. 

"Charlie,"  the  Almighty  grunted,  "take  this  girl  to  the 
icing  department."  He  turned  to  Minnie.  "You'll  get 
three  dollars  and  a  half  a  week,"  he  tossed  out,  and  swung 
his  chair  around  again  to  his  desk. 


INDEPENDENCE  259 

Simultaneously  Charlie  asked  her  to  step  along  with 
him ;  she  felt  as  if  she  were  being  spun  round  like  a  top ; 
and  before  she  realized  what  was  happening  the  immense 
man  was  leading  her  through  a  huge  iron  gate,  which 
made  her  shudder  with  a  sense  of  her  insignificance.  He 
sped  on  through  a  hallway  and  up  six  flights  of  stone 
stairs.  Minnie,  trying  to  keep  pace,  reached  the  top 
sick  with  breathlessness. 

"Dying?"  Charlie,  amused,  turned  round  to  in- 
quire. 

Tears  welled  up  in  her  averted  eyes.  She  said  noth- 
ing. 

Charlie  slapped  his  pockets  one  after  another,  then 
slapped  them  all  over  again,  and  seemed  upset  about 
something.  The  sight  of  Pem,  the  keyman,  who  hap- 
pened to  pass  at  that  moment,  relieved  him. 

"Say,  Pem,"  he  called,  "give's  a  key." 

Pem  took  a  key  from  his  pocket.  With  a  suggestive 
smile  he  held  Minnie  stripped  before  the  gaze  of  Charlie 
as  he  dangled  the  key  in  the  air.  Then  he  threw  it,  aim- 
ing at  Charlie's  head.  Both  men  laughed  as  Charlie 
caught  the  key  and  called  "son-of-a-gun"  to  the  retreat- 
ing Pem.  Minnie  dropped  her  eyes  and  recoiled  as 
though  a  foul  smell  had  reached  her. 

Shrinkingly  she  followed  Charlie  to  a  time-clock.  Pre- 
tending he  had  to  help  her  reach  the  crank,  he  held  her 
up  under  the  armpits.  As  soon  as  she  could,  she  freed 
herself  from  his  hold. 

"You  must  do  that  every  morning.  You're  docked  a 
cent  a  minute  for  being  late,  so  git  here  on  time,  or  the 
boss'll  be  making  wages  on  you.  See?"  He  chuckled 
and  pursed  his  lips  as  if  to  spit.  Minnie  giving  no  sign 


2<5o  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

of  appreciation  of  his  joke,  he  decided  she  was  a  "stiff" 
and  made  no  further  advances.  He  always  tested  every 
good-looking  newcomer.  This  kid's  eyes  kind  a  fetched 
him. 

Charlie  led  her  to  Mr.  Gamely,  the  foreman  of  the 
icing  department,  who  turned  her  over  to  the  forelady. 
The  forelady  placed  her  at  a  table  to  arrange  biscuits  in 
straight  rows  on  large  boards,  the  boards  to  be  mounted 
on  racks,  the  racks  to  be  pushed  to  a  far  end  of  the 
huge  loft. 

Minnie  listened  to  the  forelady's  instructions  with  the 
solemnity  with  which  an  earnest  bride  listens  to  her  wed- 
ding sermon.  She  was  awe-inspired  by  the  lady's  dig- 
nity, and,  at  the  same  time,  so  distracted  by  the  agoniz- 
ing realization  that  the  place  was  a  shop  that  she  had  to 
strain  every  nerve  to  keep  her  mind  from  wandering. 
A  haggard  child's  face  was  turned  up  to  the  forelady. 

"The  girls  are  not  allowed  to  loiter  in  the  water-closet," 
the  dignified  forelady  continued,  "and  you  mustn't  talk  or 
sit  down,  or  you'll  get  the  sack." 

"When  should  I  come  in?"  Minnie,  gulping,  asked 
timidly. 

"At  seven.  You  get  a  half-hour  for  dinner,  and  at  six 
o'clock  the  whistle  blows." 

Subdued  noises  reached  the  forelady's  ear.  She 
turned  like  a  dog  catching  a  scent.  An  Italian  workman, 
amusing  himself  and  those  around  him  by  a  hummed  ren- 
dition of  //  Trovatore,  instantly  feigned  intensive  con- 
centration upon  his  task  of  sticking  rectangular  cakes 
dipped  in  colored  icings  on  to  iron  spikes.  Another  man, 
who  was  about  to  yield  to  temptation  and  sit  down  to 
ease  his  burning  feet,  raised  himself  swiftly  and  bent 


INDEPENDENCE  261 

over  his  work  with  exaggerated  attention.  A  solemn 
silence  fell  upon  the  half  of  the  loft  that  the  forelady 
faced.  Smugly  conscious  of  her  power,  the  forelady 
stood  still  a  few  moments,  then  turned  to  instal  order 
in  the  other  half  of  the  loft.  Instantly  the  mouths  of 
several  girls  shut  automatically,  one  upon  a  whispered 
tale  of  a  "feller"  who  behind  a  rack  had  behaved  like  a 
"fresh  thing,"  thus  proving  that  he  did  not  know  a  "lady 
of  high  ability"  when  he  met  one;  another,  upon  the  ear- 
nest information  that  "rats"  could  be  bought  at  the  five- 
and-ten-cent  store  for  the  latter  sum  as  good  as  any  "what 
swells  pay  forty-nine  cents  for  in  them  department 
stores."  Minnie  herself  was  frightened  out  of  a  gaze  of 
awe  upon  her  opposite  neighbor,  a  young  woman  whose 
top  was  decked  with  a  bird's  nest  of  ultra-blond  curls 
and  whose  cheeks  and  lips  stood  out  in  vivid  scarlet  on 
either  side  of  a  flour-white  nose. 

The  forelady  for  a  minute  or  two  watched  the  new 
"hand"  laying  crackers  in  rows,  then  walked  slowly 
along,  taking  note  of  wooden  and  paper  boxes  strewn 
about  carelessly.  She  would  see  to  their  removal;  also 
to  the  washing  of  the  windows,  which  were  badly  bespat- 
tered, and  to  the  leaking  of  the  big  sink.  The  huge  rub- 
ber mat  underneath  was  swimming  in  a  pool  of  water, 
and  the  girls  who  worked  near  the  sink  were  getting  wet 
feet. 

Minnie's  eyes  followed  the  departing  forelady.  A 
shop  with  a  forelady  and  a  foreman  and  everything!  O 
God !  She  lowered  her  head  to  hide  her  distress  from  her 
neighbor.  And  Louis  would  tell  Dora !  Even  Uncle  Leo- 
pold might  hear  of  her  disgrace.  She  burned  with  hu- 
miliation. To  think  that  his  threat  had  come  true! 


262  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Maybe  he  had  cursed  her!  She  hated  him — hated  Dora 
— hated  being  alive.  If  her  mother  had  had  any  love 
for  her  children,  she  would  never  have  married  again. 
She  cared  for  herself  and  "that  man"  only.  She  hated 
her  mother.  The  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks  and 
dropped  on  to  the  board. 

"Say,  sissy,  them  crackers  sell  dry,"  said  Minnie's  co- 
worker. 

Some  who  heard  giggled.  Minnie  flushed  and  pro- 
ceeded to  lay  crackers  with  greater  speed. 

In  a  far  end  of  the  loft  a  machine  was  set  in  motion. 
It  sent  forth  a  few  shrill  notes  as  of  ecstasy,  and  came 
to  a  halt  with  an  immense  groan.  The  suddenness  of  it 
startled  Minnie  and  added  to  her  misery.  She  felt  like 
screaming,  like  tearing  the  young  flesh  from  her  body. 
Envious  thoughts  ravaged  her  soul  of  the  girls  she  had 
left  behind  at  high  school.  Why  had  she  been  picked  out 
for  this — for  working  in  a  shop — the  meanest  fate 
of  all! 

Neighbors  at  adjoining  tables  began  to  hum  a  senti- 
mental tune :  I  wonder  where  you  are  to-night,  my  love. 
The  notes  wound  themselves  around  Minnie's  heart  like 
a  shroud. 

The  place  buzzed  with  sounds  of  activity.  The  very 
air  seemed  to  go  round  and  round  and  round.  Beads  of 
perspiration  stood  out  on  foreheads,  rings  deepened 
under  eyes,  time  seemed  endless,  minutes  to  be  hours. 

Then  a  shrill  shriek  exhausting  itself  automatically  put 
out  the  life  of  drudgery.  A  crank  seemed  to  have  been 
turned  off  in  the  mechanism  of  the  people.  Men,  women, 
boys  and  girls  dropped  a  curtain  of  restraint  and  rushed 
pellmell  to  one  side.  In  a  single  minute  a  human  sheet 


INDEPENDENCE  263 

was  formed,  which,  for  its  denseness,  could  make  no 
progress  forward. 

"Got  the  pip?"  a  young  fellow,  cupping  his  hands  at 
his  mouth,  hallooed.  Girls  giggled.  Boys  moved  closer 
to  them. 

A  bony  old  woman,  gaping  at  Minnie,  elbowed  her 
way  up  to  her.  She  blinked  her  watery  blue  eyes. 

"Gotche  dinner,  sissy?"  she  asked  in  a  hoarse,  coarse 
voice.  Minnie  edged  away.  The  woman  peered  at  Min- 
nie's hands  for  her  lunch  parcel.  "Go  on  up  there,"  she 

piped,  pointing  to  a  rear  door.  "Ye  kin  git  pie " 

The  woman  didn't  seem  real  to  Minnie,  who  heard  the 
instruction  as  in  a  nightmare.  She  didn't  move.  The 
woman  drew  still  closer,  as  if  to  impart  a  great  secret, 
and  laid  her  bony  hand,  smeared  with  a  brown,  sticky 
substance,  on  Minnie's  arm.  A  man  eager  to  pass  pushed 
by  them.  His  shirt  was  wet  with  perspiration;  his  per- 
son exuded  a  sour  sweat  smell.  Minnie  gagged  with 
nausea.  "Ain't  you  heard  what  I  been  saying?"  the  old 
woman  whispered  in  her  hoarse  voice. 

Minnie  turned  red-rimmed  eyes  upon  her.  It  was  all 
so  utterly  strange!  Was  it  a  shop?  Where  was  she? 
She  was  filled  with  terror.  The  old  woman  might  have 
been  a  witch  out  of  a  fairy  tale,  all  the  others,  wild  ani- 
mals in  an  arena.  Mad  with  a  desire  to  escape,  she 
rushed  to  the  door  that  the  old  woman  had  indicated  and 
out  into  a  dark  hallway,  where  she  sank  down  on  the  top 
step  of  the  flight  of  stone  stairs  and  buried  her  head  in 
her  hands. 

"It's  a  shop — it's  a  shop— it's  really  a  shop!"  She 
swayed  back  and  forth.  She  was  too  wretched  for 
tears. 

Time  passed ;  another  shrill  whistle  announced  the  ex- 


264  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

piration  of  the  lunch  hour.  With  bent  head  Minnie 
joined  the  throng  of  lighter-hearted  ones  returning  to 
their  tables  of  toil. 

XIII 

Two  months  later  Minnie  was  still  in  the  employ  of 
the  Titanic  Biscuit  Company  and  still  living  with  the 
Argushes.  She  had  capitulated.  But  her  capitulation 
was  not  the  result  of  resignation  or  surrender.  She  was 
merely  too  numb  to  resist.  Circumstances  had  dealt  her 
a  stupefying  blow.  Like  an  automaton  she  went  daily  to 
the  factory  and  returned  to  the  tenement  house  of  the 
horrible  past. 

At  first  her  fellow-workers  of  the  same  sex  construed 
her  apathy  as  queerness.  When  they  learned  she  had 
been  a  high-school  girl,  however,  and  that  this  was  her 
first  job,  they  labelled  her  a  "stiff,"  after  which  they 
faithfully  ignored  her.  Never  was  she  invited  to  join 
them  in  their  frolics,  nor  to  eat  lunch  with  them  on  the 
stone  stairs,  one  of  the  factory's  commodious  lunch 
rooms.  As  for  the  men,  they  never  asked  her  to  make 
"dates,"  nor  even  gave  her  a  friendly  poke  in  the 
ribs. 

Minnie  was  as  little  alive  to  her  social  ostracism  as  to 
everything  else  about  her.  Indeed,  she  would  have  found 
it  far  more  unnatural  had  her  companionship  been  sought. 
The  people  in  the  factory  passed  to  and  fro,  stood  be- 
side, behind  and  before  her  like  phantoms.  Her  world 
was  not  real.  She  was  stunned,  benumbed. 

She  felt  secure  about  Dora  and  her  family  for  she 
had  elicited  from  Louis  the  promise  that  he  would  not 
tell  her  friend  and  she  avoided  meeting  Ida  and  Beckie 


INDEPENDENCE  265 

again;  and  nothing  else  came  to  prick  her  out  of  her 
torpidity. 

That  stare  into  a  distant  world  in  the  great  gray  eyes 
of  Minnie  attracted  Mr.  Gamely,  the  foreman.  He  would 
watch  her  with  amusement  as  she  worked  or  sat  alone, 
or  arrived  alone  in  the  morning  or  left  alone  at  night. 
Either,  he  thought,  she  was  quite  different  from  the  oth- 
ers, or  she  was  putting  on  airs.  He  would  find  out. 

Once  he  addressed  her  as  she  stood  at  work.  Did  she 
think  the  row  she  had  made  was  straight?  She  flushed 
as  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his. 

"I— I  think  so." 

Mr.  Cameley  kept  her  troubled  eyes  raised  a  moment 
longer,  then,  smiling,  gave  her  a  friendly  whisk  under  the 
chin  and  turned  away.  The  thing  was  unheard  of !  With 
a  great  whirr  the  wheels  of  gossip  were  set  revolving 
among  the  Maggies  and  the  Susies.  "That  stiff,"  they 
determined,  was  not  to  be  left  in  the  smug  consciousness 
that  she  was  "good  enough  for  the  foreman."  To  ignore 
her  was  not  enough ;  she  must  be  squelched  with  disdain ; 
so  they  passed  her  by  like  haughty  queens,  drawing  in 
their  social  skirts  and  holding  high  their  heads. 

Mr.  Gamely  followed  up  the  one  attention  with  others! 
Occasionally  he  stopped  at  Minnie's  table  to  lay  a  few 
crackers  in  a  row  and  asked  her  if  she  didn't  think  he 
did  better  work  than  she — just  for  a  look  into  her  up- 
turned eyes,  which  somehow  undermined  his  foreman's 
dignity. 

Minnie,  who  felt  she  was  being  singled  out  for  par- 
ticular inspection  of  her  work,  lived  in  dread  of  the 
"sack."  The  shop  now  had  become  the  alternative  to 
starving,  and  so  every  time  Mr.  Gamely  approached  she 
trembled. 


266          SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"She's  so  dead  stuck  on  him,  she's  fidgety,"  her  op- 
posite neighbor  communicated  to  the  other  girls. 

Once  when  Mr.  Gamely  was  in  an  especially  good 
mood,  he  called  to  Minnie  as  she  was  passing  his  office 
and  ordered  her,  with  affected  gruffness,  to  come  in. 
As  she  stood  timidly  facing  him,  he  had  to  drop  his  smil- 
ing eyes ;  he  took  boyish  pleasure  in  his  power. 

"You  mustn't  eat  so  many  crackers,"  he  said  with  as- 
sumed forbiddingness. 

Minnie  was  dumfounded.  She  raised  astonished  eyes 
in  which  Mr.  Gamely  revelled. 

"Be  careful,"  he  teased,  "don't  go  too  far." 

Out  of  his  presence  Minnie  found  words  of  self-de- 
fense and  was  miserable  that  she  had  not  told  him  he 
was  accusing  her  wrongly.  For  days  she  harbored  a 
wretched  sense  of  injustice  and  resolved  that  at  the  very 
first  opportunity  she  would  explain  to  Mr.  Gamely;  but 
when  the  chance  came,  she  fell  into  an  uncontrollable 
tremble  and  said  nothing.  She  remained  a  thief  in  the 
foreman's  eyes !  How  she  loathed  her  palpitating  heart, 
her  roof-rooted  tongue. 

Again,  some  days  later,  Mr.  Gamely  summoned  Min- 
nie to  his  office. 

"What's  that  lump  in  your  stocking?"  He  ordered  her 
to  pull  down  her  stocking,  pretending  that  he  expected  to 
find  nuts  or  crackers.  What  he  found  was  her  week's 
wages  tied  in  a  handkerchief. 

This  time  Mr.  Gamely  got  no  amusement  from  the  look 
in  Minnie's  eyes.  He  laughed  a  chopped  laugh,  pinched 
her  cheek,  called  her  "pretty,"  and  hurried  her  out  of 
the  room. 

The  end  of  the  week  brought  a  fifty-cent  raise  in  her 
wages — with  numerous  consequences. 


INDEPENDENCE  267 

For  one  thing,  it  set  Minnie's  heart  at  rest  as  to  the 
possibility  of  being  sacked.  A  very  thirsty  man  will  be 
grateful  for  muddy  water.  Then  it  permitted  the  ex- 
travagance of  breakfasts.  Three  dollars  and  fifty  cents 
a  week,  for  all  the  elasticity  of  the  poor  man's  dollar, 
simply  would  not  cover  all  of  Minnie's  needs.  Breakfast 
had  been,  resignedly,  a  permanent  elimination.  In  the 
third  place  it  redeemed  her  with  the  Argushes  in  spite  of 
her  queer  ways.  After  all,  a  girl  who  can  get  a  fifty-cent 
raise  at  the  end  of  only  a  few  months  must  be  "smart." 
And,  lastly,  it  gave  Louis  the  tremendous  satisfaction  of 
saying  "I  told  you  so"  to  the  Argushes.  He  quite  swelled 
with  pride. 

XIV 

One  Saturday  midday,  at  closing  hour,  Mr.  Gamely, 
with  the  prospect  of  an  empty  afternoon  and  evening 
before  him,  sat  yawning  in  his  office.  He  was  bored. 
Minnie,  one  of  the  last  of  the  workers  to  leave  the  loft, 
passed  by  his  open  door,  heard  him  snap  his  fingers,  and 
glanced  in.  He  beckoned  to  her  to  enter.  He  settled 
himself  leisurely  in  his  revolving-chair,  lolling  with  parted 
legs  like  a  man  inviting  a  fascinating  wife  or  mistress  to 
sit  on  his  knee.  Minnie  stood  falteringly  in  the  middle 
of  the  room. 

"Sit  down."    Mr.  Gamely  pushed  forward  a  chair. 

She  sat  down  gingerly  on  the  edge.  A  ray  of  sunshine 
lighted  up  her  hair  and  gave  it  a  reddish  glint ;  her  gray 
eyes  were  soft  and  melancholy.  The  man's  eyes  traveled 
over  her  person  lustily. 

"How'je  like  to  go  to  a  show  to-night?"  he  asked  with 
the  same  leisureliness  in  his  tone  as  in  his  manner. 


268  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Minnie  stared  at  him.  For  the  first  time  she  observed 
that  his  features  were  those  of  an  ordinary  human  being. 
He  had  always  seemed  to  belong  to  a  different  species. 

A  show !  Mr.  Gamely,  the  foreman,  was  asking  her  to 
a  show !  She  could  not  believe  her  ears.  She  had  never 
in  her  life  been  to  a  show.  Bells  tinkled  glad  tunes  in 
her  head.  But  the  music  was  short-lived.  She  looked 
down  upon  her  faded  waist  and  her  sugar-smeared  skirt. 

"I  have  no  nice  dress." 

"Go  home  and  change  your  dress." 

"I  have  no  home."  Every  bit  of  her  awe  of  the  fore- 
man was  gone.  She  could  have  taken  him  into  her  con- 
fidence about  all  her  affairs. 

"Don't  you  live  somewhere?" 

"But  not  at  home " 

Mr.  Gamely  suddenly  straightened  up.  His  breath  was 
labored  and  his  eyes  wore  an  odd  stare,  like  the  doctor's. 
Minnie's  heart  gave  a  violent  leap.  She  cast  a  swift  look 
toward  the  open  door  into  the  empty  loft. 

"Come  on — give's  a  kiss,"  cried  Mr.  Gamely  in  a  muf- 
fled voice,  and  leaned  forward  to  take  the  kiss. 

Mortal  terror  struck  into  the  girl's  heart.  She  jumped 
up,  wrenched  herself  free  from  Mr.  Gamely 's  detaining 
hold,  and,  the  next  instant,  was  out  of  his  office,  running 
madly  down  the  six  flights  of  stone  stairs. 

XV 

She  stood  outside  the  huge  factory  panting  for  breath, 
in  a  torment  of  uncertainty.  Had  she  done  right  to  run 
away?  Had  she  heard  right?  Had  Mr.  Gamely  asked 
her  to  let  him  kiss  her  ?  Had  he  wanted  to  do  the  same 
as  the  doctor?  Were  all  men  going  to  treat  her  that 


INDEPENDENCE  269 

way?  Goodness,  what  could  be  the  matter  with  them! 
Maybe  she  should  have  let  him  kiss  her,  he  was  the  fore- 
man. Now,  maybe,  she  had  lost  her  position.  But 
maybe  he  had  not  noticed  that  she  had  run  away;  he 
might  have  thought  she  had  just  walked  out  to  get  a 
drink. 

Some  instinct,  however,  exceeding  her  reason,  told 
Minnie  that  she  had  done  right  to  run  away  and,  further- 
more, that  she  must  not  return  to  the  shop.  Cooperating 
with  her  instinct  was  Louis'  warning ;  yet  Louis  had  con- 
fused her  by  his  own  conduct.  Round  and  round  circled 
her  impulses — to  return  immediately  to  the  shop,  to  run 
home,  to  go  back  to  the  shop  the  next  day,  never  to  go 
back — while,  independently  of  her  will,  her  footsteps 
carried  her  rapidly  homeward.  She  reached  the  tenement 
out  of  breath,  pale,  worn. 

Mrs.  Argush  was  bending  over  a  tin  basin  in  which 
lay  her  young  slice  of  heaven  splashing  in  warm  water. 

"What  is  it?  Why  do  you  look  so  sick?"  the  good- 
hearted  woman  exclaimed  with  exaggerated  breathless- 
ness.  Minnie  made  no  answer  and  burst  out  crying 
when  Mrs.  Argush  repeated  the  questions.  In  a  flurry 
of  alarm  Mrs.  Argush  raised  her  infant  out  of  the  water 
in  her  arms,  hastily  threw  a  shawl  over  him,  and  led  Min- 
nie into  the  bedroom.  "Lie  down,"  she  cried,  "lie  down." 

While  keeping  watch  over  Minnie,  Mrs.  Argush 
dressed  her  baby  and  invented  a  thousand  reasons  for  the 
girl's  crying  spell. 

Minnie,  on  the  other  hand,  was  tortured  by  a  new 
thought.  Would  the  Argushes  and  Louis  think  she  had 
been  truthful  about  the  raise?  It  was  only  a  little  over 
two  weeks  since  she  had  got  it.  Who  leaves  a  position 
so  soon  upon  a  raise?  And  again  came  the  frightful 


270  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

uncertainty  as  to  whether  she  ought  or  ought  not  to  re- 
turn to  work  the  next  day,  and  whether  she  ought  to  have 
run  away  at  all. 

Once  or  twice  Mrs.  Argush  broke  the  silence  to  beg 
Minnie  to  relieve  herself  by  saying  what  was  the  matter. 
The  only  response  she  received  was  a  restless  turning 
of  the  girl's  body  and  a  fresh  outburst  of  tears.  Finally 
she  went  into  the  other  room  to  put  her  baby  to  sleep. 
"Schluff  mein  faigele,  mach  zu  deine  aigelech,"  she  sang 
softly  in  a  sweet  contralto. 

The  sound  of  voices  roused  Minnie.  The  bedroom, 
always  dismal,  was  now  pitch-dark.  She  must  have  been 
asleep  a  long  time !  She  jumped  up  and  hurried  to  the 
threshold,  and  asked  what  time  it  was,  astonished  to  see 
Mr.  Argush  home.  Mr.  Argush,  washing  himself  at  the 
sink,  looked  out  from  a  layer  of  soap  lather  and  smiled. 

"Time  for  a  young  lady  to  be  up,"  he  joked,  in  the 
hope  of  cheering  her,  Mrs.  Argush  having  already  told 
him  of  the  state  in  which  she  had  come  home. 

During  supper  Minnie  sat  silently  brooding.  Sleep 
had  not  dispelled  her  unhappiness. 

After  supper  Mr.  Argush  said  he  was  going  to  visit 
the  Qiernins.  Mrs.  Argush  sent  him  a  wink  that  meant 
he  was  to  take  Minnie  along;  the  diversion,  she  felt, 
would  do  the  girl  good.  Mr.  Argush  promptly  extended 
the  invitation  and  received  a  refusal.  There  was  a  bit 
of  talk,  and  five  minutes  later  Minnie,  tearful,  was  fol- 
lowing Mr.  Argush  out  of  the  house. 

On  the  street  he  teased  her.  Had  she  got  another 
raise?  Or  was  it  a  falling  out  with  Louis,  her  sweet- 
heart that  was  depressing  her  ?  What  then  ?  Until  poor 
Minnie,  overwrought,  felt  herself  grow  faint.  She 
stopped  and  brought  her  hands  to  her  face.  It  was  not 


INDEPENDENCE  271 

a  trifle  that  was  distressing  the  girl,  Mr.  Argiish  was 
now  convinced,  and  his  paternal'  heart  was  much  con- 
cerned. He  slackened  his  pace  and  every  moment  asked 
how  sne  felt.  At  last  they  reached  the  Chernin  home. 

Eight  men  sat  playing  poker  in  the  kitchen,  the  room 
into  which  the  entrance  door  led.  Above  and  around 
them  hovered  a  thick  cloud  of  tobacco  smoke,  which  dis- 
persed as  if  intending  to  make  room  for  the  visitors. 
Olga  Chernin,  dark,  tall  and  stately,  with  a  smile  that 
bade  all  the  world  welcome,  rose  to  greet  her  guests. 
An  inquiring  look  from  Olga  reminded  Mr.  Argush  that 
he  had  forgotten  to  introduce  Minnie. 

"Oh,  this  is  Miss  Mendel,  our  boarderke."  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Chernin  shook  hands  with  her.  The  eight  card 
players  rose  from  their  chairs  and  saluted  with  exagger- 
ated chivalry.  A  burst  of  laughter  and  a  shuffling  of 
chairs  filled  the  small  room  with  jolly  noise.  The  tea- 
kettle spat  out  of  its  snout  upon  the  red-hot  stove. 

Minnie  was  bewildered.  She  turned  deathly  pale.  A 
sudden  dizziness  overtook  her.  Mr.  Argush  turned 
quickly  to  support  her.  "Take  her  to  lie  down !"  he  cried 
to  Olga,  who  caught  her  round  the  waist  and  led  her 
through  the  railroad  flat. 

For  all  the  ricketiness  of  the  bed  and  the  dinginess  of 
the  room,  it  was  a  comfort  to  Minnie,  who  ached  in 
every  limb  and  was  soul  weary. 

Olga,  seating  herself  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  stroked 
her  hair  and  meditated.  Poor  child,  so  young  and  a 
boarderke  already !  Goodness  knew  how  such  things 
came  to  be  in  this  most  glorious  of  all  countries!  The 
Argushes  had  only  two  rooms.  The  child  probably  slept 
in  the  kitchen.  Where  did  she  work?  Where  were  her 
parents  ? 


272  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"I  can  stay  alone,"  Minnie  said. 

"Oh,  no,  that's  all  right,  I'll  stay  here."  Olga  spoke 
cordially,  and  she  stooped  and  kissed  the  newcomer  on 
her  forehead. 

A  warm,  peaceful  feeling  stirred  in  Minnie's  breast,  a 
tenderness  for  Olga,  the  stranger  of  a  few  minutes  ago. 
She  laid  her  hand  in  hers. 

From  the  kitchen,  where  Mr.  Argush  was  now  seated 
with  the  others  participating  in  the  game  of  cards,  came 
his  voice  leading  in  a  melancholy  Russian  melody.  He 
began  softly,  like  a  lover  not  uncertain  of  his  welcome 
come  awooing;  then,  finding  himself  repulsed,  using  per- 
suasion. The  song  rose  to  notes  of  passionate  disap- 
pointment, was  modulated  again  as  with  pleading,  and 
died  out  as  in  despair. 

Olga  felt  tears  drop  on  her  hand.  She  leaned  for- 
ward. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  she  asked  tenderly.  Minnie  wept 
the  more. 

Another  soft  melody. 

Minnie's  soul  merged  with  Olga's.  Naively  and  pas- 
sionately emphasizing  her  distress  because  the  Argushes 
and  Louis  might  suspect  her  of  having  lied  as  to  the  raise, 
Minnie  told  Olga  her  story. 

Good  Olga's  heart  warmed  with  fond  motherliness  to- 
ward this  child.  "You  did  perfectly  right  to  run  away," 
she  soothed  her,  "and  you  must  certainly  not  go  back." 

Minnie's  child  heart  was  somewhat  relieved.  But  the 
greatest  worry  was  still  with  her:  the  untruthfulness  of 
which  she  might  be  suspected. 

"I  tell  you  what,"  said  Olga,  hitting  upon  a  happy  idea, 
"come  here  every  morning  with  a  paper  and  start  out 
from  here  to  look  for  work !  You  will  soon  find  it  with- 


INDEPENDENCE  273 

out  doubt.  All  your  spare  time  spend  here.  No  one 
needs  to  know  you  are  without  work  at  all.  And  when 
you  get  another  place,  who  will  know  whether  it's  the 
Titanic  Biscuit  Company  or  The  Schmitanic  Trisket 
Company  you  are  working  in  ?"  She  spoke  enthusiastic- 
ally, entering  wholeheartedly  into  the  little  girl's  per- 
turbed state  of  heart. 

Olga  had  lifted  the  universe  from  the  acquiescent  Min- 
nie's shoulders. 


XVI 


Olga  and  Boris  Chernin,  with  their  son  Gregory,  had 
had  to  flee  from  Russia  to  escape  exile  to  Siberia  on 
account  of  radical  propaganda.  Boris  and  Olga's  aristo- 
cratic training  in  Russia  had  made  no  provision  for  the 
earning  of  a  livelihood.  In  democratic  America,  Boris 
found  himself  compelled  to  choose  between  working  or 
starving.  He  took  any  job  that  offered  itself,  one  win- 
ter even  shoveling  snow.  That  winter  he  was  taken  ill 
with  pneumonia,  for  a  time  hanging  between  life  and 
death  and  emerging  a  candidate  for  tuberculosis.  What 
with  poor  care  because  of  lack  of  means,  he  soon  suc- 
cumbed to  the  disease ;  after  which  Olga  peddled  small 
articles,  did  day's  work,  and  served  as  midwife,  all  to 
keep  her  husband  in  a  boarding-house  at  Liberty,  her 
son  Gregory  at  school,  and  herself  alive.  Boris  got  bet- 
ter, and  Gregory  entered  college  with  honors.  Several 
times  Boris  tried  his  hand  again  at  work  of  different  sorts, 
but  his  health,  each  time,  threatened  to  give  way,  and 
Olga  insisted  upon  remaining  the  sole  dependable  bread- 
winner and  allowed  him  only  to  do  odd  jobs  now  and  then 
when  he  felt  especially  well.  Leisure  hung  too  heavily  on 


274  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

the  man's  hands.  Friends  dropped  in  evenings,  and 
sometimes  during  the  day  as  well,  to  play  cards  for  the 
pure  comradeship  of  it.  The  habit  grew,  as  did  also  the 
number  of  men  that  came,  until  Olga,  exhausted,  beaten 
by  the  daily  struggle,  to  which  she  never  could  become  ac- 
customed, evolved  the  plan  of  charging  the  men  a  fee  for 
the  privilege.  Soon  she  herself  took  part  in  the  games. 
She  had  luck,  and  so  did  Boris.  The  innocent  playhouse 
became  a  professional  gambling  den,  though  always  pre- 
serving a  certain  air  of  decency,  upon  which  Olga  insisted 
on  Gregory's  account.  If,  she  would  think  in  bitter  ap- 
prehension, he  were  to  recall  his  home  in  later  years  as  a 
foul  place,  his  mother  and  father  as  unclean  people! 
Yet  often  she  told  herself  that  if  he  were  the  son  of  his 
parents  in  the  soul  as  well  as  in  the  body,  he  would  de- 
velop sufficient  sympathy  to  realize  that  a  man  treated 
like  a  dog  cannot  be  hung  for  failing  to  behave  like  a 
man.  Gregory  would  surely  remember  the  days  when  he 
and  she  had  huddled  together  in  the  cold  and  shared  a 

miserable  cot. 

****** 

Minnie,  with  a  newspaper  under  her  arm,  arrived  at 
the  Chernin  home  early  the  next  morning.  It  was  a 
rainy  day  and  so  dark  still  that  the  family  was  only  just 
stirring ;  yet  she  was  greeted  with  the  warmest  cordiality. 

"This  is  my  son,  Gregory,"  Olga  called  to  Minnie. 

A  young  chap  in  shirt  sleeves,  with  large,  soft,  brown 
eyes  like  his  mother's,  a  generous  mouth,  rather  high 
cheek  bones,  and  a  shock  of  curly  brown  hair,  smiled  at 
her.  Minnie  spontaneously  smiled  back. 

"Gregory,  dear,"  Olga  said  in  her  high-pitched,  caress- 
ing voice,  as  she  pointed  to  a  chair  at  the  window,  "take 
vour  coat  off  the  chair  and  let  Minnie  sit  down." 


INDEPENDENCE  275 

Gregory  cleared  the  chair  and  Minnie  sat  down. 
"Spread  your  newspaper  on  the  table,  dear,"  said  Olga. 

When  Minnie  was  comfortably  seated  Olga  turned  to 
tidy  the  room.  Gregory,  glancing  at  Minnie,  caught  a 
frightened  look  in  her  eyes,  as  if  she  felt  out  of  place. 
He  looked  away.  He  felt  sorry  for  her.  Minnie  became 
absorbed  in  the  "Help  Wanted — Female"  columns. 
When  next  she  looked  up,  the  room  was  tidied,  the  three 
were  dressed,  Gregory  in  a  becoming  dark  blue  suit,  and 
Olga  was  saying:  "The  coffee  is  ready."  She  insisted 
that  Minnie  join  them.  Minnie  protested  with  intense 
earnestness,  wholly  unconscious  that  out  of  a  corner  of 
his  eye  Gregory  was  watching  her  two  gray  ones  as  they 
did  their  imploring  to  be  let  off.  Her  eyes  had  that 
quality  of  innocent  mesmerism  which  draws  men  against 
their  will.  It  was  her  very  unconsciousness  of  their 
charm  that  made  her  the  more  fascinating. 

It  was  the  between-season  when  Christmas  activity  has 
not  yet  begun  and  advertisements  for  help  are  few.  Olga 
urged  Minnie  not  to  worry.  As  it  was  raining  hard,  it 
was  just  as  well  for  her  to  stay  indoors  that  day,  she 
said. 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  morning  men  began  to  strag- 
gle in.  Olga,  answering  a  question  she  thought  must  be 
in  Minnie's  mind,  lightly  explained  their  presence.  The 
one  effect  of  the  explanation  upon  the  child,  who  had  no 
idea  of  the  interrelation  of  card-playing  and  indecency, 
was  to  leave  her  puzzled  as  to  why  it  had  been  given. 
Only  the  sophisticated  are  suspicious.  Minnie  had  met 
men  in  this  home  the  night  before;  it  was  quite  natural 
to  meet  men  here  again. 

Olga  saw  that  Minnie  looked  tired  and  concluding  at 
the  same  time  that  it  would  be  more  comfortable  for 


276  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

everyone  if  she  were  in  another  room,  took  her  to  the 
bedroom.  "It  will  do  you  good  to  lie  down,"  she  said. 
"Try  even  to  sleep."  Kissing  her  gently,  she  left  her 
alone. 

An  hour  later  Minnie  was  awakened  by  a  shout,  fol- 
lowed by  a  thunderous  laugh.  Above  all  the  voices 
Olga's  coursed  through  the  air  like  a  peal  of  music. 

"Full  house!" 

The  girl  jumped  up  and  ran  to  the  kitchen.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  bright,  orange-colored  mull  blouse  with  a 
black  tie  and  a  black  skirt,  which,  for  all  its  cheapness, 
was  immensely  becoming.  Her  hair  was  dishevelled,  her 
cheeks  were  flushed  from  sleep,  her  eyes  shone  like  two 
stars.  She  stood  in  the  doorway,  hands  clutched  below 
her  breast,  head  and  shoulders  slightly  forward,  lips 
parted,  and  brows  slightly  lifted.  First  some,  then  all, 
of  the  men  raised  their  eyes  and  were  silenced  by  the 
girlish  vision. 

"Well,  dear,  did  you  have  a  nice  sleep?"  Olga  called 
pleasantly,  smiling. 

The  spell  was  broken.  Minnie  relaxed  and  entered 
farther  into  the  room,  falling  into  her  natural  timidity. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  glancing  shyly  from  one  man  to  an- 
other. 

One  of  the  gamblers,  large  of  body  and  tight  of  mus- 
cle, with  small,  insinuating  eyes  and  mountainous  cheek- 
bones, gazed  at  Minnie  hard,  an  impertinent  smile  play- 
ing round  his  lips.  She  had  to  drop  her  eyes. 

Olga  rose  to  fill  the  tea  glasses  and  gave  her  chair  to 
Minnie,  who  took  it  diffidently. 

"Give  her  some  tea,  too,"  Boris  called  to  Olga. 

"Of  course,"  Olga  rejoined  in  a  tone  implying  there 
was  no  need  to  make  this  suggestion.  No  Russian  has 


INDEPENDENCE  277 

to  be  reminded  that  tea  and  hospitality  go  hand  in  hand. 

When  the  glasses  were  filled,  Olga  brought  herself  a 
chair  from  the  bedroom.  The  gamblers,  moving  closer 
to  the  table,  resumed  their  play.  Heads  were  bent  lower. 
The  ugly  expression  of  hunters  in  pursuit  of  prey  fell 
like  a  veil  over  each  face.  Now  and  then  one  stopped 
to  take  a  sip  of  strong  tea,  perhaps  to  throw  a  look  at 
the  young  female  stranger,  whose  eyes  followed  their 
activity  with  an  interest  that  grew  more  intense  with  each 
new  shout  of  enthusiasm,  with  each  explosion  of  coarse 
laughter. 

The  man  with  the  mountainous  cheekbones,  Joe  by 
name,  raised  his  eyes  oftener  than  the  others  to  feast 
upon  the  new  female.  He  speculated  as  to  the  reasons 
for  her  presence,  and  since  his  experience  was  by  no 
means  limited  to  this  one  gambling  house  his  conjectures 
ran  riot.  She  looked  young  and  as  if  she  had  never  wit- 
nessed gambling  before,  yet,  he  decided,  she  must  be  six- 
teen at  least  and  maybe  was  shamming  innocence. 
Womenfolk  were  artists  at  shamming.  He  would  find 
out.  Several  times  he  cleared  his  throat  and  glanced  at 
Minnie  as  if  he  meant  to  say  something.  Finally  he  came 
out  with  it,  ostensibly  addressing  the  gathering  in  gen- 
eral. 

"Well,  why  can't  the  young  lady  join  in  the  game?" 
He  glanced  covertly  at  her. 

There  followed  an  exchange  of  looks,  during  which 
activity  was  suspended.  Olga  refrained  from  saying 
something  that  seemed  to  be  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue. 
She  contemplated  the  girl,  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and 
again  fastened  her  attention  on  the  cards. 

Minnie  looked  shyly  from  one  to  another.  She  rested 
her  eyes  longest,  and  gratefully,  upon  Joe,  who  was 


278  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

thereby  imbued  with  greater  courage.  Pulling  himself 
together,  he  rose,  moved  his  chair  nearer  to  his  neigh- 
bor's, told  the  others  to  do  the  same,  and  invited  Minnie 
to  "move  close  and  be  a  sport."  She  hesitated,  with  a 
diffident  glance  at  Olga.  Olga,  just  then  reminded  by 
her  husband  that  the  glasses  needed  replenishing  again, 
rose;  she  smiled  only  half  consent  upon  Minnie,  and 
Minnie  remained  where  she  was,  seated  outside  the 
circle. 

"Nu,  tell  the  baby  she  can  play !"  called  Joe  to  Olga. 

Giving  her  shoulders  a  nonchalant  shrug,  Olga  said  to 
Minnie : 

"If  you  want  to.  It  won't  hurt  you,  I  suppose.  Try. 
It  is  fun." 

It  was  a  moment  of  exultation  for  Minnie,  who  took 
her  place  eagerly,  quivering  with  joyful  anticipation. 

Joe  snatched  Olga's  chair,  which  was  next  to  Minnie's, 
and  gaily  ordered  Olga  to  take  his.  His  interest  so  flat- 
tered Minnie  that  she  at  once  conceived  a  liking  for  this 
big  man.  When  he  insisted  that  Olga  make  her  tea  as 
strong  as  everybody  else's,  saying  Olga  did  not  give  the 
girl  credit  for  being  the  "sport"  that  she  was,  her  grati- 
tude knew  no  bounds.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
saw  some  importance  in  being  Minnie.  Her  eyes,  shining 
with  the  new  light,  were  extraordinarily  beautiful ;  and 
Joe  lent  himself  readily  to  their  charm.  Bent,  moreover, 
upon  testing  her,  he  edged  closer  and  proceeded  to  give 
instructions.  She  felt  his  warm  breath  graze  her  cheek ; 
his  shoulder  touched  hers,  his  leg  leaned  against  hers. 
His  manner  was  vigorous,  inspiring,  his  voice  deep,  his 
tone  compelling.  He  was  irresistible,  masterful.  Minnie 
felt  agitated — stormed. 

Thus  and  so  was  meant  by  the  stakes,  the  blind,  the 


INDEPENDENCE  279 

straddle,  the  ante.  The  game  had  seemed  so  simple  when 
she  had  watched  the  men  playing!  Now  it  appeared  a 
fearful  complication.  Her  face  fell  into  troubled  lines; 
and  when  some  of  the  players  grew  impatient  her  heart 
pounded  unmercifully.  Joe  swiftly  hushed  the  com- 
plainants. If  they  didn't  like  it  they  could  get  out,  he 
thundered.  Joe  was  a  masterful  man ;  they  submitted. 
Turning  again  to  Minnie,  he  said :  "It  sounds  worse  than 
it  is,"  and  went  on  teaching  her  about  pairs,  straights, 
flush,  full  house,  fours,  straight  flush,  royal  flush.  Here 
some  laughed  and  made  comment :  "It's  ken  heppen  may- 
be perhaps  possible  efsher!" 

A  sample  game  to  be  played.  There  was  grumbling, 
but  the  game  was  played.  Minnie  leaned  eagerly  toward 
Joe  for  this  and  that  bit  of  information.  She  followed 
his  instructions  with  a  zest  that  delighted  him. 

At  last  came  a  real  game !    Joe  was  financial  backer. 

Her  chest  rose  and  fell  feverishly.  She  quivered  from 
head  to  toe.  Her  hair  became  moist  round  her  forehead 
and  fell  low  in  becoming  ringlets.  Her  heightened  color 
enhanced  the  false  brilliance  of  her  eyes.  She  reminded 
one  of  a  young,  spirited  horse  galloping.  Not  even  Joe's 
leg,  which  persistently  rested  against  hers,  though  she  un- 
consciously kept  moving  her  own  leg  away,  actually 
roused  her  from  the  trance.  Six  times,  without  her  being 
conscious  of  it,  Olga  had  refilled  her  glass  with  strong 
tea. 

After  a  number  of  rounds  she  quite  quietly  ran  up 
the  betting.  When  "called,"  she  said  as  quietly: 
"Straight  flush." 

A  moment  of  tense  incredulity.  Minnie  laid  her  cards 
down.  A  craning  of  necks.  A  roar  that  ended  in  a  veri- 
table panic.  The  gamers  shrieked,  laughed,  pushed, 


280  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

punched  one  another  all  at  the  same  time.  The  thick 
cloud  of  smoke  above  their  heads  moved  as  if  in  search 
of  safer  quarters. 

Minnie,  at  first  dazed,  soon  tingled  with  delirious  ex- 
citement; and  when  a  pile  of  money  was  shoved  her  way 
she  was  almost  overcome.  She  thrilled  and  quivered 
under  the  spell  of  the  new  birth  of  her  personality. 

No  wonder  that  after  this  Minnie  quite  abandoned  the 
thought  of  job-hunting.  In  this  heaven  of  thrill  and  ex- 
citement, she  even  made  money — more  money  than  she 
had  made  working  for  the  Titanic  Biscuit  Company.  She 
hated  the  day  to  end.  She  regretted  having  to  go  to  bed. 
In  the  mornings  she  hurried  off  eagerly  from  the  Argush 
home.  For  weeks  never  a  thought  of  other  things  en- 
tered her  mind.  She  developed  a  light-heartedness,  a  vi- 
vacity, a  new  brilliance  that  slipped  from  her  tongue  and 
darted  from  her  eyes. 

Louis  took  the  greatest  delight  in  the  successful  Ar- 
gush care  of  their  "boarderke"  and  boasted  : 

"Not  for  nothing  did  I  tell  you  she  is  a  mighty  smart 
girl."  The  Argushes  themselves,  little  suspecting  the 
games  and  the  dozen  glasses  of  tea  working  in  Minnie's 
veins,  were  delighted  with  their  own  effective  hospitality. 

XVII 

Joe's  seat  remained  permanently  beside  Minnie's.  He 
would  have  it  so. 

Olga,  though  a  wise  woman  on  the  whole,  was  blind  to 
this  that  was  going  on  under  her  very  nose.  Beneath  her 
roof,  gambling,  elsewhere  an  obnoxious  vice,  became 
nothing  more  nocuous  than  a  "little  game  or  two  of 
poker."  Elsewhere  the  sight  of  a  young  Minnie  with 


INDEPENDENCE  281 

eyes  glittering  more  lustfully  every  day,  would  have  in- 
censed her.  But  in  her  own  home  what  harm?  Better 
that  than  a  Titanic  Biscuit  Company  with  foremen  and 
what  not.  Likewise,  the  foreman  was  a  rogue,  while 
Joe,  one  of  her  guests,  was  not,  though  his  entire  per- 
sonality proclaimed  his  rascality  and  his  small  eyes  fed 
like  leeches  on  Minnie's  youth.  She  would  even  tease 
Minnie  laughingly.  "Some  day  a  man  will  run  away 
with  your  two  gray  eyes,"  she  would  say.  Joe  she  would 
tease  about  being  in  love  with  the  girl  and  warn  him  he 
had  a  rival  in  her  own  son  Gregory. 

One  day  something  occurred  to  open  Olga's  eyes. 

Gregory  disapproved  of  his  parents'  business,  though 
his  disapproval  at  first,  as  he  was  too  young  at  the  time 
to  appreciate  its  sordidness,  came  from  his  hatred  of  the 
constant  hilarity,  the  thick  smoke,  the  atmosphere  of  free- 
masonry. His  was  a  quiet,  brooding,  refined  nature. 
When  he  complained,  his  mother  took  pains  to  explain 
carefully  that  his  father  was  too  sick  to  work,  while  she 
herself  could  stand  a  rough  struggle  no  longer  and  was 
eager  also  to  give  him  the  advantages  of  a  good  educa- 
tion. She  convinced  him  she  had  no  other  choice  and  so 
won  his  tolerance.  It  was  now  about  a  year  since  he 
had  entered  any  complaint. 

In  that  one  year  Gregory  had  matured;  He  had  come 
into  contact  at  college  with  other  eighteen-year-old 
youths,  Russian  Jews,  who  took  immense  delight  in  long 
discussions  of  sociological  problems  and  were  far  wiser 
than  he  about  life  and  its  mud  puddles.  Gambling,  in 
their  opinion,  was  so  unquestionably  an  evil  that  their 
few  curt,  uncompromising  words,  when  it  was  mentioned 
once,  left  Gregory  with  a  painful  smart.  He  never  in- 
vited his  college  mates  to  his  home.  ...  In  most  of  their 


282  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

discussions  he  took  an  equal  part,  but  became  a  silent 
listener  when  they  launched  in  their  free,  advanced  way 
upon  the  subject  of  sex.  In  this,  too,  they  seemed  so 
much  wiser  than  he.  One  young  reactionary  knew 
Schopenhauer's  essay  on  woman  by  heart.  A  champion 
of  the  sex  fought  him  with  Mill  on  The  Subjection  of 
Woman;  a  "radical"  came  to  the  support  of  the  cham- 
pion with  Bebel's  Die  Fran,  while  a  modern  young  cynic 
said  "take  a  whip  along"  when  you  call  on  a  woman ; 
which  also  provoked  endless  arguments,  favorable  and 
unfavorable,  concerning  the  qualities  of  the  sex.  In  con- 
sequence Gregory  came  to  realize  that  women  were  "dif- 
ferent." Heretofore  he  had  not  been  conscious  of  them 
as  a  separate  kind  of  being  and  his  opposite.  He  began 
to  study  the  one  of  the  species  that  fell  under  his  direct 
experience. 

She  was  different.  She  was  something  as  different 
from  the  boys  he  knew  as  a  light  and  airy  thing  was  dif- 
ferent from  the  kitchen  table  of  his  home.  She  was  awe- 
inspiring.  She  made  him  want  to  keep  aloof.  It  seemed 
to  him  he  could  never  bring  himself  to  speak  to  her,  for 
her  answers,  he  felt  vaguely,  would  probably  be  different 
in  the  same  way  as  she  herself ;  would  puzzle  him,  em- 
barrass him. 

Minnie,  for  her  part,  was  attracted  to  Gregory,  even 
though  his  presence,  to  which  she  was  always  keenly 
alive,  and  his  steady  brown  eyes  fastened  upon  her 
had  a  disconcerting  effect  upon  her  at  card-playing 
times. 

One  Saturday  morning  when  she  reached  the  Chernin 
tenement  she  hesitated  to  go  up  to  the  home  out  of  the 
sensitive  consideration  that  it  was  their  day  of  rest  (be- 
cause of  their  customers'  piety),  when  they  indulged  in 


INDEPENDENCE  283 

late  rising,  and  she  would  be  intruding.  She  seated  her- 
self on  the  stairway  to  waste  an  hour. 

For  the  first  time  in  the  weeks  of  her  gaming,  her  mind, 
as  she  crouched  in  the  gloom  of  the  hall,  reverted  to  her 
home.  She  pictured  the  members  of  her  family,  who 
would  just  then  be  rising  and  dressing.  (Sarah  had  re- 
tained the  custom  of  Sabbath  rest.)  She  visualized 
Beckie  partly  dressed,  rosy  and  pretty,  languidly  and  aim- 
lessly hunting  in  out-of-the-way  corners  for  her  clothes, 
which  she  always  misplaced.  She  heard  the  others  laugh- 
ing at  and  teasing  her  for  her  forgetfulness.  She  heard 
her  mother  calling  each  in  turn  to  breakfast.  She  saw 
them  all  at  table,  talking,  laughing.  She  felt  lonely,  mel- 
ancholy. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  a  man's  voice  cried.  It 
was  Gregory  coming  down  the  stairs,  thrown  off  his  usual 
reserve  by  the  unexpected  encounter. 

"I'm  sitting — I'm  sitting — I  hated  to  go  in — you — you 
— get  up  late  Saturdays — I'm  always  intruding " 

He  liked  the  softness  of  her  voice;  he  was  drawn  to 
her.  He  had  a  fleeting  desire  to  tell  her  to  stop  gambling, 
and  to  ask  her  why  she  didn't  live  at  home  and  go  to 
school. 

A  book  dropped  from  his  hand.  They  bent  simul- 
taneously to  pick  it  up ;  their  heads  collided.  They 
straightened  up  and  laughed.  Minnie's  laugh  had  the 
same  gay  ring  as  when  things  went  well  at  the  card 
table.  Gregory  stood  a  moment  smiling  down  on  her, 
then  stooped  to  pick  up  the  book.  "They  are  up  and  they 
are  waiting  for  you,"  he  said.  Touching  the  brim  of  his 
hat,  he  said  good-by  and  left. 

Minnie  looked  after  him  until  he  was  out  of  sight.  It 
was  with  an  excited  flutter  of  her  heart,  which  the  simple 


284  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

encounter  did  not  warrant,  that  she  made  her  way  up- 
stairs. Several  times  she  had  to  stop  for  breath.  The 
weeks  of  unwholesome  living  were  telling  on  her. 

She  arrived  at  an  opportune  moment.  The  Chernins 
had  forgotten  to  tell  Gregory  that  they  were  going  to  an 
uncle  for  lunch  and  he  was  to  join  them  there.  Minnie 
could  tell  him.  In  a  few  minutes  they  left,  Olga  urging 
Minnie  to  make  herself  at  home  and  eat  something,  as 
she  looked  so  pale  and  must  have  come  away  without 
breakfast. 

Being  alone  was  a  novel  sensation,  a  pleasant  sen- 
sation— and  yet  one  was  somehow  reminded  of  the  tired- 
ness which  one  forgot  in  the  bustle.  Minnie  rubbed  her 
eyes,  stretched,  yawned,  and  went  to  lie  down  on  Greg- 
ory's cot  in  the  dark,  air-tight  room  adjoining  the  kitchen. 
How  luxurious  it  felt  to  stretch  full  length — to  be  with- 
out fear  that  someone  would  intrude!  It  was  quiet — 
quiet !  Oh,  how  good  it  felt !  She  placed  her  arms  in  a 
circle  above  her  head.  Thoughts  of  the  games,  Joe's  ever- 
ready  helpfulness,  his  enthusiasm  and  pride  over  her 
gains  warmed  her  being  like  a  cordial.  Joe  was  a  great 
deal  like  Louis,  she  thought ;  yet  they  were  different. 
Joe  was  always  awfully  sure  of  himself ;  Louis  was  awk- 
ward and  embarrassed.  There  were  other  differences, 
too.  After  all  they  were  not  so  much  alike.  Perhaps  it 
was  simply  that  they  were  both  big.  My,  how  loudly  Joe 
talked !  Her  mother  would  have  referred  to  him  as  a 
"suldat."  Louis  was  always  very  nice  now  when  they 
took  walks  together.  He  never  acted  again  as  he  had  on 
that  rainy  day.  She  hardly  ever  remembered  it  any  more. 
Now  she  thought  of  it,  it  struck  her  that  ever  since  then 
Louis  had  seemed  less  easy  with  her.  "That's  because  he 
knows  he  wasn't  true,"  she  decided.  .  .  .  She  wondered 


INDEPENDENCE  285 

when  Gregory  would  return.  It  somehow  gave  her  pleas- 
ure to  think  of  him  to-day.  He  was  so  nice — his  brown 
eyes  and  all.  And  he  had  laughed  so  heartily  after  the 
collision  of  their  heads!  Had  that  been  one  of  his  col- 
lege books?  Could  he  be  going  to  the  same  college  as 
Abie  Ratkin — as — as — Jacob!  She  sat  up,  frightened. 
Goodness !  What  if  he  did  know  Jacob  and  should  tell 
him  where  she  was ! 

The  bell  rang.  She  jumped  up  and  ran  with  pounding 
heart  to  the  door.  It  was  Gregory.  Olga's  message 
fairly  burst  from  her.  Her  eagerness  and  earnestness 
were  so  out  of  proportion,  that  Gregory  was  moved  to 
laugh.  What  could  she  do  but  laugh,  too  ?  They  laughed 
and  laughed.  Finally  he  whipped  off  his  cap  and  said  he 
would  make  tea:  it  was  cold  out  and  he  was  chilled. 
Would  Minnie  drink,  too  ?  Maybe.  She  was  really  weak 
with  hunger.  The  night  before  she  had  had  no  appetite 
for  supper.  It  was  nearly  twenty-four  hours  since  she 
had  eaten  anything.  After  the  laugh  her  legs  trembled; 
and  how  her  heart  pounded!  She  went  quickly  to  sit 
down.  Picking  up  one  of  Gregory's  library  books  from 
the  table,  she  cried: 

"Oh,  algebra!" 

Gregory,  astonished,  turned  from  the  stove. 

"Do  you  know  algebra?" 

"Oh,  yes.    I  passed  with  high  marks." 

He  was  more  greatly  astonished. 

"Did  you  go  to  college  ?" 

"No.    High  School,  Wadleigh  High  School." 

"What  year?" 

"Twod " 

It  was  a  slip  of  the  tongue.    They  laughed. 

"Second,"  she  finally  wedged  in  between  giggles. 


286          SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"What  languages  did  you  have?" 

"German  and  Latin." 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  high  school  now?" 

She  dropped  her  eyes.  Her  face  clouded  over.  But 
she  felt  at  ease  now  with  Gregory,  and  answered 
frankly : 

"Because  I  have  a  stepfather  and  I  went  away  from 
home." 

Gregory  proceeded  with  the  tea  preparations  more 
thoughtfully. 

Minnie  found  herself  wishing  he  would  hurry.  A  feel- 
ing of  faintness  was  coming  upon  her.  To  hide  what 
she  knew  must  be  the  traitorous  pallor  of  her  face,  she 
walked  over  to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out.  In 
a  moment  Gregory  heard  a  thud.  He  dropped  the  lid  of 
the  teakettle,  turned  and  saw  Minnie  on  the  floor.  He 
rushed  over  to  her,  shook  her,  called  her  by  name.  She 
made  no  answer.  He  lifted  her  and  carried  her  to  his 
cot.  Running  back  for  a  glass  of  water,  he  dashed  it  in 
her  face.  She  came  to. 

"Yes,"  she  said  in  reply  to  his  question,  "I  have  fainted 
before." 

Following  her  instructions,  he  quickly  brought  a  wet 
towel,  bound  it  about  her  head,  and  laid  coverings  over 
her,  for  she  was  having  a  chill.  When  she  felt  better  he 
made  her  drink  tea  with  whisky  in  it. 

"Are  you  sure  you  feel  better?"  Gregory  was  not  so 
willing  to  take  her  word  for  it,  as  the  rings  under  her 
eyes  were  very  dark.  "I'll  bet  you  had  no  breakfast!" 
he  ventured. 

Minnie  made  no  answer. 

"I'll  boil  you  some  eggs." 

"Oh,  no,  don't.    I  don't  feel  like  eating,"  she  said,  sit- 


INDEPENDENCE  287 

ting  up.  But  she  grew  terribly  dizzy.  Bringing  her 
hands  up  to  her  eyes,  she  groaned. 

"What's  the  matter  ?"  cried  Gregory,  forcing  her  down 
on  the  cot  again. 

"Don't !"  pleaded  Minnie. 

At  that  moment  they  were  both  startled  by  a  voice. 

"Nu!    Nu!" 

It  was  Joe,  who  had  come  for  his  umbrella,  many  times 
forgotten.  Drawing  his  own  conclusion  about  the  prox- 
imity of  the  two  young  people,  he  laughed  a  coarse  laugh. 

"Oh,  you  kids!" 

"How  did  you  get  in  ?"  asked  Gregory. 

"I  left  the  patent  lock  open,"  Minnie  explained. 

"She  fainted,"  said  Gregory.  "Mama  and  papa  are 
away."  And  he  went  on  to  say  that  they  were  expecting 
him  for  lunch  and  he  was  in  quite  a  dilemma  about 
meeting  them. 

Joe  eyed  the  boy  closely.  His  first  conjecture  faded  a 
bit.  Gregory  seemed  to  be  telling  the  truth.  Yet  if  he 
himself,  Joe  decided  rapidly,  were  caught  in  so  compro- 
mising a  position  he  would  have  found  a  blanket  of  sham 
far  thicker  than  Gregory's — yes,  even  at  Gregory's  age. 
"I'll  tell  him  to  go  to  his  parents"— thought  he;  "I'll 
offer  to  mind  her  myself."  And  so  he  did. 

Did  Minnie  think  she  was  all  right?  asked  Gregory. 
Was  she  sure  it  was  all  right  for  him  to  go?  Yes,  in- 
deed. He  went. 

The  moment  the  door  shut,  Joe  swung  into  the  bed- 
room and  sat  down  on  the  cot,  a  voluptuous  smile  playing 
upon  his  face  and  in  his  tiny,  insinuating  eyes.  "Well," 
he  said,  "are  we  going  to  be  a  good  girl  ?"  He  smoothed 
her  face,  her  hair,  her  neck  in  a  single  stroke.  She  was 
not  afraid,  but  she  moved  her  head  away. 


288  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"Come  on,  come  on/'  he  cried  brazenly,  "sweet  sixteen 
and  never  been  kissed?"  She  blinked  her  eyes.  "Never 
been  kissed?"  he  insisted.  His  vigor,  his  vulgarity,  made 
her  feel  dizzy;  she  gulped  for  breath.  Nothing  has  the 
power  so  to  intimidate  finer  natures  as  vulgarity. 

"Yes,"  she  felt  compelled  to  reply. 

He  ha-ha'd;  the  place  rang  with  his  ha-ha!  How  it 
pleases  a  man  to  discover  he  is  right ! 

"There !"  he  cried,  as  he  bent  his  bulky  upper  half  for- 
ward and  lifted  her  like  a  feather  in  his  arms.  He 
planked  down  a  kiss  on  her  lips  which  brought  their 
teeth  into  contact. 

Before  Minnie  could  think  beyond  her  tremendous  sur- 
prise, she  heard  a  woman's  scream. 

"God  mine!" 

With  a  jerk  Joe  released  her. 

It  was  Olga.  She  and  Boris,  not  finding  the  uncle  at 
home,  had  returned.  They  had  met  Gregory  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs. 

There  was  a  silent  measuring  of  souls  with  eyes. 

"You  dirty,  rotten  bum,  if  you  know  what's  good  for 
you,  get  out  of  this  house  and  don't  you  ever  cross  this 
threshold  again !"  Olga  pointed  to  the  door. 

Joe  insolently  sauntered  past  her  for  his  hat  and  um- 
brella, and  in  the  same  insolent  manner  made  for  the 
door.  There,  with  hat  in  hand,  he  stood  for  a  second 
holding  the  knob,  threw  an  insinuating  smile  at  Gregory, 
which  he  transferred  to  the  mother  and  next  to  Minnie, 
who  had  risen  from  the  cot  and  was  standing  in  the  door- 
way between  the  rooms. 

"Ha-ha !"  he  roared,  "the  son  is  younger " 

Olga  caught  the  insinuation  in  a  flash.  Had  she  laid 
undue  confidence  in  the  girl?  Joe  had  taken  her  heart, 


INDEPENDENCE  289 

pierced  it,  and  thrown  it  back  in  her  face.  She  wanted 
to  kill  him. 

"Get  out  of  here!"  she  shouted. 

He  left  after  another  ha-ha. 

Minnie,  panic-stricken,  stood  transfixed.  Things  had 
happened  so  quickly  that  she  was  dazed  into  unconscious- 
ness of  their  reality.  She  seemed  to  be  dreaming  a  night- 
mare. Olga  darted  a  look  at  her  that  made  her  cower  as 
before  an  instrument  of  death.  Then  the  tension  broke. 
Minnie  fainted  again. 

The  same  thing  had  happened  before,  Gregory  said, 
and  told  the  full  story  of  how  he  had  come  to  leave  Min- 
nie in  Joe's  care.  Olga's  mother  heart  clung  to  the  ex- 
planation with  fierce  relief.  That  was  what  it  had  been. 
Joe,  in  his  vile  mind,  had  distorted  her  boy's  innocent 
ministrations. 

Olga,  bending  over  Minnie  and  trying  to  revive  her, 
suddenly  realized  that  the  girl  must  no  longer  be  left 
ignorant  of  the  facts  of  life.  She  must  be  told  everything 
as  her  mother  would  have  told  her  had  she  deserved  the 
name  of  mother.  And  she  must  no  longer  be  allowed  to 
come  to  the  house  to  gamble.  How  was  it,  Olga  blamed 
herself,  she  had  never  realized  the  enormous  danger  of 
it  before !  She  must  have  been  blind,  an  idiot ! 

XVIII 

Minnie  rested  on  Gregory's  cot  until  the  late  after- 
noon ;  then  Olga,  considering  the  time  opportune,  as  the 
menfolk  were  away,  called  to  her  to  come  to  the  kitchen. 

"Sit  down  here."    Olga  indicated  a  chair  beside  her. 

What  had  Olga  to  say  ?  Minnie  felt  impending  doom. 
Was  it  to  scold  her  because  "that  Joe"  had  kissed  her! 


290  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

All  day  as  she  had  lain  struggling  for  the  physical 
strength  to  rise  and  go  home,  the  thought  of  his  conduct 
had  tortured  her.  She  had  felt  again,  now  with  disgust, 
his  rough  face  against  hers;  the  recollection  of  his  kiss 
sickened  her  somewhere  way  down  in  the  pit  of  her 
stomach.  Mrs.  Chernin — did  she  think  it  was  her  fault, 
that  she  was  to  blame  ? 

"Minnie,"  Olga  began  gravely — Minnie  grew  limp  with 
fright — "I  have  something  to  tell  you.  I  will  speak  to 
you  like  a  mother." 

The  child  stared  at  her. 

"My  dear,  you  are  a  child  yet  and — how  old  are  you  ?" 

"Going  on  sixteen." 

"Sixteen !"  Olga  looked  away,  tears  in  her  eyes.  She 
sat  silent  a  while,  thinking  commiseratingly  of  the  poor 
little  girl's  lot  and  wondering  how  she  ought  to  begin 
her  warning.  It  was  so  hard.  Bracing  herself  with  the 
thought  that  it  was  inevitable,  she  moved  forward  and 
began. 

"You  remember  what  happened  to  you  in  the  Titanic 
Biscuit  Company — the  foreman,  I  mean?"  Minnie  re- 
membered. "Well,  for  Joe  to  kiss  you  is  just  as  bad — 
it's  wrong — in  fact " 

"Uh,  I  know  it,"  cried  Minnie,  so  glad  to  be  able  to 
agree  with  Olga.  She  nodded  her  head  vehemently. 

Goodness,  what  did  this  girl  understand — what  didn't 
she  understand!  Olga  was  wholly  puzzled.  She  sighed 
and  scrutinized  Minnie.  No,  she  didn't  understand — 
really — and  she  wasn't  feigning  innocence.  She  was  a 
baby.  She  had  to  be  told  everything.  Her  instinctive 
understanding  had  to  be  re-enforced  by  definite  knowl- 
edge. The  attractiveness  of  her  personality  to  men  was 
only  enhanced  by  her  innocence.  Some  day  she  would 


INDEPENDENCE  291 

fall  a  prey  to  some  beast.  Olga  was  in  a  flutter.  How 
to  say  it !  Just  what  to  say !  If  only  someone  had  talked 
to  Olga  herself  when  she  had  been  a  young  girl,  maybe 
she  would  know  better  how  to  proceed. 

"You  know,  dearie,  you  are  a  girl.  The  others  are 
men.  Men  and  girls  marry." 

"Yes " 

Olga  lapsed  again  into  silence.  What  in  the  world  was 
she  to  say !  She  looked  despairingly  at  the  clock.  Greg- 
ory or  Boris  might  return  at  any  moment. 

"It  is  only  when  a  man  and  a  woman  are  married  that 
the  man  has  the  right  to  hold  her  in  his  arms,  to  kiss  her. 
You  were  right  when  you  ran  away  from  your  fore- 
man." 

Minnie  thought  of  the  doctor  and  of  Louis. 

"Did  anybody  else  treat  you  like  that?"  There  was 
still  a  small,  lingering  doubt  in  Olga's  heart  as  to  what 
might  have  transpired  between  Minnie  and  Gregory. 

"Yes.     A  doctor  and  another  man." 

"What  did  they  do?    Who  is  the  other  man?" 

"The  other  man  is  Louis ;  he  is  a  painter." 

Olga  smiled  at  the  addendum. 

"What  did  they  do?" 

Minnie  reflected,  feeling  some  hesitancy  in  telling. 
"Kissed  me  and  held  me  tight,  especially  the  doctor.  He 
and  I  were  lying  on  a  lounge." 

Again  Olga  was  puzzled.  What  exactly  had  the  girl 
experienced  ? 

"Did  Gregory  kiss  you,  too?" 

"Uh,  no!"  Minnie  cried,  shocked. 

Olga  was  at  last  satisfied  and  felt  very  tenderly  toward 
Minnie. 

"Do  you  understand  now  what  I  mean?"    Her  voice 


292  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

carried  so  much  helplessness,  she  might  have  been  plead- 
ing for  a  favor. 

"What?"  Minnie  asked  naively. 

"Well,  that  you  must  never  allow  any  man  or  boy  to 
fondle  you,  kiss  you,  except  if  you  are  married  to  him  or 
are  going  to  marry  him." 

Minnie  sat  silent.  She  knew  it,  yes,  she  knew  it.  But 
what — how  could  she  help  it  if  they  did  it  to  her? 

"I  never  ask  them  to." 

"Of  course  you  don't ;  but  don't  let  them." 

"I  ran  away  from  them." 

Oh,  there  wasn't  any  use  trying  to  explain.  After  all, 
Minnie  would  have  to  grow  older.  She  would  learn.  It 
would  develop  like  a  plant  in  her.  For  the  present  she 
had  the  instinct  of  self-preservation. 

Olga,  certain  she  could  be  no  more  explicit,  was  about 
to  drop  the  subject  when,  out  of  sheer  curiosity,  she 
asked : 

"Do  you  mind  when  they  do  it  to  you  ?" 

Minnie  took  a  moment  to  think.  The  doctor  and  Louis 
had  frightened  her  and  so  had  the  foreman,  but  not  Joe. 
She  liked  Joe.  Disgust  of  his  embrace  had  come  only  in 
retrospect. 

Olga  sat  reflecting  upon  the  oddness  of  it — Joe,  a 
coarse  fellow,  vile,  sordid,  was  a  man  Minnie  liked !  She 
switched  off  to  another  subject,  equally  as  much  on  her 
heart. 

"And  then,  Minnie,"  she  began,  "gambling  is  not  very 
nice  for  a  young  girl.  When  I  first  allowed  you  to  play, 
I  had  no  idea  that  you  would  keep  it  up  indefinitely. 
You  remember  I  let  you  come  here  so  that  you  could 
have  a  place  from  where  to  look  for  another  position." 

Minnie  was  astonished  at  the  abrupt  change  of  sub- 


INDEPENDENCE  293 

ject.  All  her  sensitiveness  was  pricked  into  attention. 
She  instantly  decided  Olga  was  reproaching  her.  Olga 
saw  that  she  had  turned  pale  and  hesitated  to  continue. 

"It  is  nearing  Christmas  time,  the  busy  season,"  she 
resumed  after  a  time,  putting  even  greater  severity  into 
her  tone,  "you  ought  to  be  able  to  get  work  now — in  a 
store  perhaps.  You  ought  not  to  be  content  to  spend 
every  day  gambling  here  with  a  lot  of  men."  Bad 
enough,  Olga  was  thinking  sorrowfully  that  she  had  to 
spend  her  days  so.  For  a  sweet,  innocent  child,  with 
every  opportunity  in  life,  to  choose  gambling! 

How  could  Minnie  discern  the  tenderness  behind  Ol- 
ga's  advice?  Child  that  she  was,  she  saw  only  that  Olga 
was  closing  her  home  to  her,  was  accusing  her  of  having 
outstayed  her  welcome.  And  before  her  lay  work  in  a 
shop  again!  The  horror  that  she  had  been  convinced 
was  past  and  done  with  faced  her  again.  Her  soul 
quaked.  She  wanted  to  cling  to  Olga,  to  beg  her  to  let 
her  stay.  But  a  stronger  instinct,  her  pride,  held  her 
back. 

"You  will  be  much  better  off,  dear,"  Olga  continued. 
"You  will  work  in  a  store  and  make  regular  wages  and 
get  yourself  nice  dresses,  and  some  day  you  will  marry. 

This  is  no  way "  The  "dear"  touched  Minnie.  She 

began  to  cry.  Olga,  meaning  to  comfort  her,  unfortu- 
nately chose  the  wrong  thing  to  say.  "I  let  you  come  a 
long  time.  I  don't  think  you  have  anything  to  cry  about. 
Another  girl  would  have  thought  of  going  away  of  her 
own  accord,  sooner " 

Minnie  screamed. 

Olga,  alarmed,  touched  her  on  the  arm  and  told  her 
to  control  herself.  Minnie  wrenched  herself  free.  Why 
had  Olga  fooled  her — made  her  think  she  was  welcome? 


294  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Olga,  almost  as  much  as  Joe,  had  always  laughed  appreci- 
atively when  she,  Minnie,  had  had  good  luck,  and  had 
always  encouraged  her  in  the  spirited  part  she  took  in 
the  games.  She  had  not  been  true,  she  had  not  been  true ! 
She  resented  Olga  with  all  her  heart. 

How  should  Minnie  have  guessed  that  Olga  also  was 
naive  ?  But  for  Joe's  flagrant  manifestation  of  rascality, 
Olga  might  have  remained  blind  to  the  risk  she  was  tak- 
ing with  the  fate  of  the  child  in  her  care. 

"Take  your  hands  away  from  your  face,"  Olga  said. 
Her  voice  sounded  even  greater  severity.  Indignantly 
Minnie  jumped  from  her  seat  and  rushed  out  of  the 
house. 

In  the  ground-floor  hall  she  encountered  Gregory. 

"What  are  you  crying  about?"  He  was  full  of  con- 
cern. 

She  edged  away.    He  followed  her. 

"What  are  you  crying  about?" 

She  pushed  past  him  and  ran  out. 


XIX 

The  Argushes,  who  had  been  anxious  when  Minnie  did 
not  return  at  her  usual  Saturday  hour,  welcomed  her 
with  a  cordiality  that  reflected  their  relief.  But  her  red- 
rimmed  eyes  and  downcast  air  alarmed  them  all  over 
again. 

"God  mine!"  cried  Mrs.  Argush,  "what  happened  to 
you?  Did  you  meet  with  an  accident?" 

Minnie  brushed  past  her  into  the  bedroom  and,  with- 
out waiting  for  permission,  threw  herself  on  the  bed, 
where  she  cried  and  cried.  The  perplexed  couple  could 


INDEPENDENCE  295 

extract  no  explanation  from  her  nor  coax  her  into  par- 
taking of  the  evening  meal. 

At  eight  o'clock  Louis  happened  in.  The  wildest  sur- 
mises leapt  to  his  mind.  He  was  dreadfully  distressed. 
Like  the  Argushes,  he  coaxed  and  coaxed  her  to  take  him 
into  her  confidence,  but  with  as  little  success.  Finally,  by 
the  greatest  gentleness,  he  persuaded  her  to  go  out  with 
him  for  a  walk. 

"You  must  tell  me  what  happened  to  you,"  he  said, 
after  they  had  walked  a  block  in  silence.  No,  she 
wouldn't,  she  wouldn't,  she  wouldn't.  But,  despite  her 
protestations,  some  inner  voice  told  Minnie  that  event- 
ually she  would. 

"What  have  you  to  hide  ?"  Louis  shrewdly  asked.  His 
face  reddened.  Minnie's  silence  in  response  even  to  this 
was  particularly  ominous.  His  breath  came  short  and 
fast.  Minnie,  frightened  by  his  emotion,  brought  her 
thumb  to  her  mouth  and  looked  at  him  from  down  up. 
"You  must  tell  me.  I  am  bound  to  know.  Tell  me,"  he 
commanded,  taking  hold  of  her  arm. 

Though  tears  of  resentment  at  this  importunateness 
came  to  her  eyes,  though  her  voice  choked  over  the  lump 
in  her  throat,  she  told  Louis  everything  that  had  hap- 
pened to  her,  beginning  with  the  foreman  of  the  Titanic 
Biscuit  Company  and  ending  with  Olga's  advice.  The 
last  she  repeated  in  a  manner  which  plainly  conveyed 
that,  though  Louis  himself  had  confused  her,  at  last  she 
knew. 

Louis  smiled.  He  smiled  in  spite  of  his  pity  for  her, 
in  spite  of  his  perplexity  as  to  what  it  was  about  this 
girl  tjiat  rendered  her  a  prey  to  his  species.  She  was  not 
beautiful,  though  there  was  an  attractive  something 
about  her  personality;  nor — and  his  eyes  glanced  over 


296  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

her  slight  frame — was  she  even  well  developed.  His  un- 
derstanding shrugged  its  shoulders,  while  his  heart 
clenched  its  teeth  with  jealousy  at  the  thought  that  an- 
other man  might  possess  her. 

Louis'  sudden  passion  in  the  Dakowsky  kitchen  had 
deepened  into  something  greater.  He  had  come  on  fre- 
quent visits  to  the  Argushes,  had  taken  many  walks  with 
Minnie,  had  entered  into  her  mental  attitude  upon  things 
which,  immature  as  it  was,  carried  a  delicacy  and  a 
sense  of  justice  which  to  him,  especially  because  he  was 
boorish,  had  a  fascination.  She  wouldn't  go  back  home 
because  her  uncle  wasn't  fair;  she  wouldn't  have  her 
mother  know  of  her  hardships  because  a  mother  ought 
naturally  to  be  concerned;  if  she  had  to  be  reminded  that 
she  was  a  mother,  it  showed  a  lack  which  made  her  an 
undeserving  mother,  and  so  it  was  perfectly  fair  that 
she,  Minnie,  deprive  her  of  her  oldest  daughter.  She  did 
not  want  Dora  to  know  that  she  had  made  the  compromise 
of  going  to  work  in  a  shop,  because  Dora,  not  having  ex- 
perienced the  struggle  herself,  would  call  it  weakness. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Minnie  herself  considered  it  was 
weakness.  She  ought  rather  to  have  killed  herself.  .  .  . 
She  didn't  think  a  man  with  intelligence  and  ambition 
ought  to  be  a  painter.  Sharing  a  front  room  on  the  East 
Side  was  an  affront  to  a  right  standard  of  living;  refine- 
ment demanded  more.  She  considered  having  to  live 
with  the  Argushes  an  imposition  on  her  by  God. 

Then  there  had  come  the  period  of  stimulation  from 
card  playing,  when  she  blossomed  into  a  charming  vi- 
vacity like  a  flower  in  season.  She  romped  with  the 
Argush  baby,  her  eyes  full  of  mischief ;  she  talked  to  it 
in  a  vocabulary  beyond  the  others'  comprehension,  and 
laughed  gaily  over  her  own  sport.  The  evenings  when 


INDEPENDENCE  297 

Louis  visited  she  seemed  especially  full  of  fun ;  she  would 
make  one  mischievous  remark  after  another,  charming 
and  delighting  Louis. 

He  had,  in  fact,  for  weeks  been  thinking  of  marriage 
to  Minnie,  though  his  mind  was  not  yet  at  peace  about  it. 
In  his  own  estimation  he  was  a  mere  "paintner;"  an 
American  high-school  girl  could  aspire  to  a  nobler  al- 
liance, he  felt. 

Yet  he  was  sure  he  would  treat  her  better  than  any 
other  man ;  he  would  carry  her  about  in  his  arms  to  save 
her  footsteps,  he  often  said  to  himself ;  he  would  care  for 
her  better  than  for  himself.  Now  she  was  struggling, 
and  with  her  determination  not  to  return  home,  what 
other  relief  was  there  if  not  marriage?  True,  she  was 
very  young  to  think  of  marriage,  but  she  was  wise 
enough.  No  one  was  ever  so  childish  in  matters  of  sex 
as  she,  and  so  wise  in  other  matters. 

Walking  beside  him,  depressed,  her  youth  so  severe  a 
condemnation  of  the  hard  fate  pursuing  her,  his  heart 
went  out  to  her  in  boundless  tenderness.  Almost  as  a 
surprise  to  himself,  he  said : 

"Minnie,  let  us  get  married.  I'll  take  the  best  care 
of  you.  I  know  you're  a  high-school  girl  and  I'm  only  a 
paintner,  but  I  have  money  from  home  and  I'll  give  up 
work  and  study  to  be  a  doctor — anything  you  like 
best "  He  paused,  flushing  all  over  his  large  face. 

Somehow  Minnie  was  not  surprised.  Not  that  she  was 
in  the  least  prepared  for  the  proposal ;  it  simply  had  no 
meaning  to  her. 

He  continued  to  plead  his  cause  by  telling  her  that  it 
would  be  a  solution  to  her  struggles ;  he  would  carry  her 
about  in  his  arms,  she  would  be  precious  as  gold  to  him. 
And  as  he  spoke,  sunshine  flooded  her  horizon.  She 


298  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

began  to  draw  pictures  of  a  kingdom  of  four  rooms  fur- 
nished in  green  plush  in  which  she  reigned;  and  she  ex- 
perienced a  sense  of  peace  and  comfort.  Her  silence  en- 
couraged Louis  who  finally  asked:  "What  have  you  to 
lose  ?  I  will  care  for  you  as  no  one  in  the  world  would. 
And  if  you  wish  it,  if  you  think  it  nicer,  I  will  go 
with  you  to  see  your  mother.  .  .  ." 

"No,  indeed!" 

"Then  you  answer !" 

All  over  again  he  painted  in  rosy  colors  all  the  pleas- 
ures of  a  home ;  of  being  forever  through  with  shops  and 
foremen ;  of  doing  a  little  housework,  a  little  cooking,  a 
little  marketing,  and  then  being  free  as  a  queen. 

At  each  picture  Minnie  felt  closer  to  the  kingdom  of 
heaven. 

"When?"  she  asked. 

He  could  hardly  believe  his  ears. 

"Any  time — right  away,"  he  replied  with  great  vivac- 
ity. He  felt  more  excited  than  he  thought  he  ever  could. 

"All  right,"  she  said  simply. 

How  Louis  "the  paintner"  trembled  with  joy! 

Though  it  was  midnight  when  they  returned,  he 
brought  the  Argushes  out  of  bed  to  tell  his  news. 
Their  gladness  took  such  boisterous  forms  of  expression 
that  neighbors  were  alarmed.  Some  suspected  thieves, 
others  fire,  but  the  sound  of  laughter  allayed  their  fears. 
Mrs.  Argush  rummaged  in  the  closet  for  a  chipped 
saucer;  finding  it,  she  threw  it  to  the  floor  and  smashed 
it,  shouting  "maseltov!  maseltov!"  upon  which  her  spouse 
commented  that  she  "was  going  crazy  with  joy."  From 
a  secret  region  under  the  sink  he  brought  out  a  bottle  of 
whisky  and  passed  drinks  to  the  "long  life  and  happi- 
ness" of  the  new  couple!  The  little  man  beamed  and 


INDEPENDENCE  299 

dimpled,  laughed  and  slapped  Louis  on  the  back.  Mrs. 
Argush,  on  the  other  hand,  assured  Louis  that  she  felt 
about  Minnie  as  her  own  daughter,  and  her  pride  and 
satisfaction  in  having  found  such  a  grand  match  for  her 
was  boundless.  She  kissed  Minnie  and  danced  her  around 
the  room ;  she  embraced  and  kissed  Louis,  saying  she  was 
living  over  again  the  joy  of  her  own  engagement.  Upon 
which  her  husband  took  her  in  his  arms ;  petted  her  and 
called  her  "my  old  one."  Mrs.  Argush's  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

Boorish  Louis,  full  of  happy  emotions,  red  and  uncom- 
fortable, with  no  place  for  his  hands  and  feet,  sat  with 
a  silly  smile  on  his  face  while  a  thousand  thoughts  ran 
riot  in  his  head.  He  thanked  them.  He  wanted  to  beg 
Mrs.  Argush  to  instruct  Minnie  in  the  ways  of  married 
life,  but  he  held  himself  back.  He  wanted  to  kiss  Min- 
nie, but  he  held  himself  back.  Indeed,  he  was  so  con- 
fused that  Mr.  Argush  took  pity  on  him.  "Nu,  chusen," 
he  said,  "the  bride  is  tired.  You  will  be  together  long 
enough.  Let  her  go  to  sleep  now." 

Minnie  lived  through  the  whirlwind  in  a  daze.  It  all 
seemed  remote,  the  hilarity  absurd,  and  Louis'  having 
told  the  Argushes  absurd.  She  was  mute,  annoyed,  puz- 
zled and  a  stranger.  When  Louis  rose  to  go  she  was 
infinitely  relieved. 

Louis  was  at  the  door  saying  good-night. 

Minnie  was  seated. 

"Nu,  kalle — see  what  a  child  she  is !  Aren't  you  going 
to  see  your  lover  out  ?"  Mrs.  Argush  cried. 

Minnie  rose,  surprised  that  this  was  expected  of  her 
and  annoyed  with  Mrs.  Argush.  She  walked  over  to 
Louis.  He  stood  holding  the  door-knob,  blushing  and 
embarrassed ;  a  helpless  look  in  his  eyes,  the  meaning  of 


300  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

which  was  telegraphed  to  Mrs.  Argush,  brought  the  re- 
ply: 

"That's  all  right— that's  all  right."  She  nodded  her 
head  knowingly.  "I'll  teach  her " 

Mr.  Argush  burst  out  laughing.  He  slapped  his  wife 
on  her  pudgy  shoulder.  Louis  went  out.  Mrs.  Argush 
beckoned  to  Minnie  to  follow  him. 

In  the  hall  Louis,  in  a  low,  shamed  voice,  asked  for 
a  kiss.  She  drew  away. 

"Oh,  no!"  How  she  wished  he  and  the  Argushes 
wouldn't  bother  her! 

Louis  stepped  closer ;  he  looked  down  from  his  greater 
height  upon  the  slip  of  a  girl,  shaking  as  with  cold. 

"But  we're  engaged,"  he  pleaded. 

She  drew  farther  away.    He  took  hold  of  her  arm. 

"Just  one,"  he  begged  and  seemed  so  eager,  so  anxious, 
that  she  consented. 

He  kissed  her  once,  hard,  so  that  the  Argushes,  peep- 
ing through  the  crack  of  the  door,  burst  into  a  simul- 
taneous laugh.  Louis,  startled,  walked  quickly  off  with- 
out even  bidding  Minnie  good-by. 


XX 


The  next  day  Minnie  meditated  upon  her  new  position. 
She  was  going  to  be  married  to  Louis  the  "paintner."  She 
no  longer  needed  to  worry  about  Olga  Chernin's  dis- 
missal ;  and  she  didn't  have  to  look  for  work  in  a  shop. 
What  would  her  people  say  if  they  knew  she  was  going 
to  be  married  ?  What  would  Olga  say  ?  How  funny  that 
just  when  she  and  Gregory  were  getting  to  be  friendly 


INDEPENDENCE  301 

the  whole  upset  should  come.  Was  anybody  going  to 
marry  Gregory,  too  ?  She  wished  she  could  marry  Greg- 
ory instead  of  Louis.  Maybe  she  would.  Some  people, 
like  her  mother,  married  twice.  She  hoped  if  she  ever 
had  children  she  would  not  neglect  them  even  if  she 
married  a  second  time.  Louis  hadn't  kissed  her  like 
Joe,  so  that  his  teeth  touched  hers.  If  Gregory  kissed 
her,  would  he  kiss  her  like  Louis  or  like  Joe?  She 
wished  he  had  kissed  her.  She  would  have  liked  to 
know. 

Sfie  walked  aimlessly  through  the  streets,  feeling  re- 
mote from  herself  and  remote  from  everything  around 
her.  It  was  so  queer  not  to  be  full  of  worries — the  worry 
of  having  to  keep  secret  the  card-playing  from  the  Ar- 
gushes,  the  worry  of  having  to  look  for  work  in  a  shop, 
the  worry  of  dreading  a  foreman.  She  missed  something, 
as  one  misses  the  nuisance  of  an  umbrella  after  a  spell 
of  rain.  And  everything  she  did  seemed  purposeless. 
She  was  bound  for  no  definite  destination,  nothing  about 
her  held  any  interest,  she  was  cheerless,  lonely,  and  felt 
like  crying.  Her  limbs  ached.  She  was  tired.  She 
thought  of  little  Beckie,  and  grew  homesick.  She  thought 
of  her  mother,  and  grew  angry,  she  thought  of  Louis  and 
felt  afraid,  she  thought  of  the  Argushes  and  wished  she 
did  not  need  to  see  them  soon  again. 

In  an  effort  to  make  things  seem  more  real,  she  shook 
off  her  thoughts  and  looked  around,  at  the  people,  the 
houses,  the  shops.  She  happened  to  be  standing  in  front 
of  one  of  the  cheaper  class  of  department  stores,  Grin- 
dem  &  Gold,  and  looked  in  through  the  glass  doors  at  the 
humming  activity  inside.  Something — she  could  not  have 
told  what — drew  her  in.  A  throng  of  people  were  hur- 


302  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

rying  to  and  fro.  The  store  was  seething  with  the  ani- 
mation of  the  Christmas  season. 

The  Christmas  season !  The  "rush"  season !  All  were 
busy. 

Her  heart  leaped  with  its  old  ambition.  Work  in  an 
office!  She  tingled.  Resolutely  she  advanced  farther 
into  the  store  and  approached  a  floorwalker,  who  directed 
her  to  the  manager's  office. 

Grindem  &  Gold's  kindly  Employer  of  Labor  contem- 
plated the  girl  with  a  bit  of  amusement  as  she  earnestly 
set  forth  her  qualifications  to  do  office  work.  "I'm  a  high- 
school  girl  and  I'm  very  good  in  penmanship." 

He  looked  into  space  and  stroked  his  beard  as  if  in 
debate  with  himself. 

"Will  you  be  willing  to  work  evenings  until  Christ- 
mas?" 

A  thrill  of  excited  exultation  sent  the  blood  to  her 
head.  Maybe  work  in  an  office  at  last !  Leaning  forward 
eagerly  and  quite  forgetting  the  superiority  of  the  ad- 
dressed, she  cried : 

"Oh,  sure,  if  it's  in  an  office "  She  remained  in  an 

expectant  attitude,  her  mouth  slightly  open,  as  if  her 
very  life  depended  upon  the  man's  reply. 

"Well,"  he  pretended  to  demur,  attempting  to  hide  a 
smile,  "sure  you  won't  fall  asleep  ?" 

"No,  sir!"  Minnie  solemnly  assured  him  and  leaned 
back  in  her  chair,  her  manner  seeming  to  add :  "If  that's 
all  you're  afraid  of,  you  needn't  be." 

"All  right,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  "we'll  start  you  on 
three  dollars  a  week  and  give  you  a  raise  if  you're  con- 
scientious !" 

Minnie  held  out  her  hands  for  a  fraction  of  a  moment 


INDEPENDENCE  303 

like  a  child  receiving  a  gift.     Her  heart  sang:  "I'm  so 
happy !  so  happy !  so  happy !" 

"Come  with  me,"  said  the  man,  who  had  another  er- 
rand to  take  him  the  same  way,  so  that  this  time,  when 
she  could  have  run  up  many  stairs  with  the  sprightliness 
of  the  happy,  she  was  conducted  into  an  elevator !  What 
a  contrary  way  life  has  of  managing  itself ! 

XXI 

Among  the  Grindem  &  Gold  Department  Store  em- 
ployees of  four  weeks'  standing  and  more  a  Great  Im- 
petus existed,  the  promise  of  a  Christmas  gift  equal  to 
one  week's  wages.  The  men  and  women  and  little  boys 
and  little  girls  applied  themselves  to  their  labors  as  if  to 
earn  their  way  to  a  very  heaven.  They  sweated  and  they 
toiled  for  the  Luscious  Bait. 

At  ten  at  night  heads  of  salespeople  were  still  bent 
over  counters,  cash  boys  and  cash  girls  still  raced  up  and 
down  aisles  in  pursuit  of  floorwalkers,  parcels,  change  of 
coin.  The  eyes  of  all  were  glassy  with  the  excitement 
and  the  foul  air. 

In  the  auditing  department,  busiest  of  all,  the  clerks 
stayed  at  work  until  midnight !  It  was  only  for  a  short 
time,  only  until  Christmas,  and  with  a  week's  extra  wages 
as  the  reward,  who  would  think  of  complaining?  Now 
and  then  a  girl  fainted,  or  began  to  cry  for  no  reason  at 
all;  a  boy  or  a  man  suddenly  felt  a  desperate  need  for 
a  glass  of  water.  But  it  would  all  soon  be  over;  there 
were  only  ten  days  before  Christmas. 

The  department  store,  in  its  lively  conscience  about 
keeping  its  employees  working  overtime,  provided  evening 
meals  gratis.  Every  few  nights  the  employees  were  sent 


304  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

for  a  treat  into  the  store's  regular  dining-room ;  on  other 
nights  sandwiches  were  handed  around  and  each  employee 
was  allowed  a  half  hour  of  respite.  There  were  some  who 
ate  ravenously,  but,  alas,  not  Minnie!  One  does  not  so 
readily  overcome  a  sacred  prejudice  against  the  hog. 
The  home  of  the  Argushes  was  kept  "kosher ;"  in  her 
own  home  Minnie  had  been  brought  up  in  adherence  to 
the  "kosher,"  from  which  Sarah,  for  all  her  religious 
skepticism,  never  deviated.  So  how  could  she  promptly 
fall  on  the  neck,  so  to  speak,  of  the  non-kosher,  and  de- 
vour it?  The  usual  ham  sandwiches  were  certainly  out 
of  the  question,  and  the  meals  served  in  the  dining-room 
did  not  present  a  religious  aspect  either,  while  the  other 
foods  had  strange  names  and  looked  strange. 

Upon  breakfasts  of  nothing  and  lunches  of  wurst  and 
bread  and  mustard  came  suppers  of  nothing.  But,  then, 
for  Minnie,  too,  it  was  only  for  a  short  time.  Besides, 
working  in  an  office  was  nourishment  to  the  soul. 

The  days  passed.  It  was  Christmas  Eve.  At  six 
o'clock  a  dead  hush  fell  upon  the  Season's  Rush.  Men 
and  women  dropped  and  sent  up  a  prayer  of  thanks. 
Lines  of  employees  formed  before  the  windows  of  the 
paying  tellers.  Boys  and  girls  giggled  nervously.  All 
were  wearily  but  happily  anticipating  the  Luscious  Bait. 

Minnie,  almost  too  tired  to  remain  upright  on  her  feet, 
stood  in  line  among  the  others.  The  air  in  the  store  was 
so  warm  and  thick  that  she  had  the  sensation  of  breath- 
ing in  a  solid.  Her  head  every  once  in  a  while  swam 
dizzily;  she  would  brace  herself  with  the  thought  that 
to-morrow  was  a  holiday — and  the  Doubled  Wage !  She 
had  long  wanted  a  gray,  ready-to-wear  skirt,  and  she  had 
long  needed  a  pair  of  shoes.  Though  Louis  had  coaxed, 
she  had  refused  to  buy  these  with  his  money. 


INDEPENDENCE  305 

The  paying  teller  called  her  name  and  handed  her  an 
envelope. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  and  stepped  out  of  the  line.  A 
few  feet  away  she  opened  the  flimsy  yellow  envelope  and 
found — three  dollars  enclosed! 

She  turned  back,  disregarding  the  next  in  line. 

"Please,  mister,"  she  cried  nervously,  "it's  a  mis- 
take  " 

The  paying  teller  turned  to  her. 

"What's  a  mistake?" 

"It's  only  three  dollars." 

The  paying  teller  took  the  envelope  from  her  extended 
hand  and  looked  up  his  records.  Minnie  stood  trembling 
and  throbbing. 

"Say,  what  do  you  think,"  he  threw  out  from  behind 
the  bars  of  his  cage,  "we're  giving  money  away  here? 
You're  only  here  three  weeks  and  two  days.  You  came 
too  late." 

Too  late !  Minnie  stood  condemned,  dumfounded.  So 
it  took  four  weeks  in  full  to  earn  the  Double  Wage !  She 
had  never  expected  that  they  would  count  those  few  days. 
She  stood  rooted  to  the  spot.  Several  girls  giggled.  A 
boy  called:  "Say,  sissy,  get  a  move  on."  She  glanced 
hastily  down  the  length  of  the  line  and  flushed  hotly. 
She  had  made  a  fool  of  herself ! 

Oh,  to  hide  or  run  away!  But  quick  escape  was  im- 
possible. She  had  still  to  get  her  hat  and  coat  from  the 
seventh  floor.  Afraid  that  in  the  elevator  she  might  en- 
counter someone  who  had  seen  her  make  a  fool  of  her- 
self, she  walked  up  the  seven  flights  of  stairs — ran  them, 
in  fact.  When  she  reached  the  top  landing,  darkness 
suddenly  closed  down  on  her,  the  floor  slipped  from  be- 


306  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

neath  her  feet.  The  next  she  knew  she  was  lying  in  the 
auditing  office,  and,  oh,  how  her  body  ached ! 

"I'm  so  tired!"  she  moaned.  She  ached  as  if  she  had 
been  beaten.  She  turned  her  head  away  from  the  woman 
manager,  who  had  detected  in  Minnie  "a  bright  little 
girl,"  and  was  gently  administering  spirits  of  ammonia. 

"Does  the  little  girl  feel  better  ?"  she  asked. 

"I'm  so  tired!" 

"You'll  rest  all  day  to-morrow,  dear." 

An  hour  later  a  very  pale  Minnie,  unsteady  on  her 
feet,  was  putting  on  her  hat  and  coat. 

"I  hope  you'll  be  all  right  and  will  come  back  after 
Christmas,"  said  the  manager. 

But  Minnie  never  came  back,  and  no  one  in  the  store 
ever  tried  to  discover  why.  No  cog  in  any  machinery  is 
dispensed  with  so  lightly  as  is  the  human  cog  in  the  ma- 
chinery of  human  affairs. 

XXII 

Leaving  Grindem  &  Gold's,  Minnie,  her  nerves  so  on 
edge  that  every  sound  felt  like  a  lash  on  her  bruised 
body,  retreated  to  a  quiet  side  street  lined  with  brown- 
stone  houses,  which  told  of  a  past  aristocracy.  She 
could  hardly  drag  herself  along  and  soon  realized  she  was 
going  to  faint  again.  She  gave  a  desperate  glance  around. 
A  doctor's  sign  caught  her  eye.  Without  reflection  she 
labored  up  the  high  stoop  and  pulled  the  bell.  A  nurse  in 
uniform  opened  the  door  upon  a  little  girl  in  a  heap  in 
the  vestibule. 

When  Minnie  regained  consciousness  she  found  her- 
self on  a  bed  with  Doctor  Joel  and  Miss  Grayson  at  her 
side,  talking  in  low  voices  and  smiling  kindly  into  her 


INDEPENDENCE  307 

eyes.  The  doctor,  giving  Miss  Grayson  instructions  to 
let  her  rest,  went  out  of  the  room. 

Aching,  weary  and  sick,  Minnie  asked  no  questions. 
She  kept  her  eyes  closed,  occasionally  moved  from  side 
to  side,  and  moaned.  The  nurse  ministered  to  her  in  one 
small  way  or  another. 

It  seemed  a  long  while  before  the  doctor  appeared 
again. 

"Do  you  feel  better?" 

"Yes,  I  feel  all  right."  Minnie  fingered  her  hair  ner- 
vously. 

"All  right?"  Doctor  Joel  smiled.  She  wanted  to  rise. 
"There,  dear,  no,  no,  just  lie  still."  Doctor  Joel's  gen- 
tleness brought  a  lump  to  Minnie's  throat.  She  was  ripe 
for  abundant  emotional  response  to  the  slightest  friend- 
liness. 

When  he  left,  she  turned  her  head  to  look  out  of  the 
window,  which  was  close  to  the  bed.  With  a  relaxation 
like  that  which  she  had  felt  when  lying  alone  in  the  home 
on  Gregory's  cot,  she  remarked  what  a  clean,  quiet  street 
this  was  and  what  a  contrast  the  atmosphere  of  repose  to 
the  hubbub  of  Henry  and  Rivington  and  Madison  Streets. 
Soon  the  sense  of  relief  passed.  Thoughts  began  to  as- 
sail her.  The  women  passing  seemed  so  different  from 
Mrs.  Argush.  so  much  quieter,  not  as  if  they  were  for- 
ever talking,  forever  bustling,  and  the  men  not  as  if  they 
were  insisting  upon  girls  marrying  them.  Louis,  disap- 
pointed that  she  had  taken  work  instead  of  beginning 
wedding  preparations,  had  tried  every  night  to  make  her 
understand  that  her  conduct  was  reprehensible.  Then, 
too,  he  was  so  demonstrative  that  Minnie  was  constantly 
reminded  with  horror  of  the  doctor,  and  when  Louis 
insisted  that  since  they  were  engaged  his  behavior  was 


308  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

all  right,  she  was  completely  dismayed.  To  her  even 
greater  consternation,  Mrs.  Argush  not  only  upheld 
Louis,  but  told  Minnie  it  was  her  duty  to  respond,  and 
the  exactions  of  marriage  would  be  still  greater.  The 
girl  had  a  nightmare  sense  of  being  pursued  by  some- 
thing ugly  and  monstrous. 

A  stabbing  pain  in  the  region  of  her  heart  recalled  her 
from  these  thoughts.  She  stirred  and  moaned. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  asked  Miss  Grayson. 

"Nothing." 

Perhaps,  it  occurred  to  Minnie,  she  was  staying  too 
long. 

"Ill  dirty  the  bed,"  she  muttered,  bringing  her  thumb 
to  her  mouth  and  sitting  up,  her  sensitiveness  overcom- 
ing her  weakness.  But  only  for  an  instant.  Her  heart 
began  to  pound  and  her  breath  came  hard  and  short. 

"It's  all  right — you  won't  soil  the  bed."  The  nurse 
gently  forced  her  down. 

The  doctor  came  in  and  conferred  with  the  nurse  in 
whispers,  then  approached  the  bedside  and  asked  Minnie 
her  name. 

.  "Where  do  you  live,  Mildred?  I'll  take  you  to  your 
mother  in  my  carriage,  yes?" 

Home!  Mother!  The  Argush  kitchen!  Louis  the 
paintner!  .  .  .  No,  no,  no,  she  wouldn't  go  home — she 
wouldn't  go  to  the  Argush  kitchen — she  wouldn't  go  to 
Louis!  She  hated — hated — hated  it  all.  She  could  not 
stand  it. 

Setting  her  lips  tight,  stiffening  in  every  limb  and 
fiber,  she  said  slowly  and  decide'dly  that  she  had  no 
mother  or  father  or  home ;  she  had  lived  with  strangers 
who  had  moved  away  and  she  was  free  to  be  disposed 
of  as  the  doctor  saw  fit. 


INDEPENDENCE  309 

Not  a  quiver,  not  a  tear.  Hers  was  not  the  spirit  of 
the  beggar  wanting  to  rouse  pity.  It  was  the  spirit  of 
desperate  resolution.  Like  her  mother  before  her,  who 
had  reached  out  for  the  theft  of  a  hat  band,  Minnie 
reached  out  for  the  theft  of  a  fresh  start. 

Her  manner  discountenanced  disbelief  and  further 
questioning.  A  remark  or  two,  and  it  was  decided  that 
she  stay  until  Dr.  Joel  find  room  for  her  in  a  "nice  place 
where  there  were  other  nice  girls  and  she  would  have  a 
fine  time  romping  and  playing  and  jumping  until  she  got 
to  be  a  big,  strong  girl." 

"Am  I  sick?" 

The  doctor  looked  down  upon  her  with  fatherly  ten- 
derness. He  nodded  his  head  affirmatively. 

"What's  the  matter  with  me?" 

There  was  such  an  air  of  maturity  and  independence 
about  this  child,  that  Dr.  Joel  felt  he  did  not  have  to  con- 
ceal her  true  condition  from  her. 

Heart  trouble!  It  sounded  far  worse  than  she  felt 
herself  to  be.  After  a  little  reflection,  she  said  sulkily, 
as  though  unwilling  to  believe  him: 

"I  was  well  yesterday." 

"You  were  not  well  yesterday."  Dr.  Joel  shook  his 
head  emphatically.  He  added  softly,  as  if  he  meant 
no  one  to  hear :  "They  live  against  all  the  laws  of  nature 
all  their  lives,  and  when  they  get  sick  they  think  it  hap- 
pened over  night !" 

Minnie  started.  "Against  all  the  laws  of  nature!" 
The  scene  of  Mira,  her  mother,  her  sick  father,  Doctor 
Levin,  flashed  upon  her  mind.  Her  father  had  died  from 
"living  against  all  the  laws  of  nature!" 

Dr.  Joel  and  Miss  Grayson  were  startled  by  a  shrill, 
hysterical  shriek,  followed  by  another  and  another  in 


;io  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

quick  succession.     Minnie  had  seen  a  hideous  apparition. 
She  clung  to  the  doctor  and  the  nurse. 

"Don't — don't  make  me  go  back !"  she  cried. 


XXIII 

The  Helina  Heimath  was  a  vast,  elegant  structure,  as 
if  with  forethought  stuck  in  a  suburb  away  from  the  eye 
of  society  that  society  might  not  have  flaunted  before  it 
its  completed  work,  humanity  wrecked,  beaten. 

Its  chief  directors  were  two  men  linked  in  philanthropy 
as  in  business,  Y.  Nat  (the  gentleman's  idiosyncratic  ab- 
breviation of  Nathan)  Grindem  and  Owen  Gold. 

Carved  upon  a  stone  plate  above  the  entrance  door 
were  the  words,  "For  Incurables,"  which  seemed  to  say 
in  their  implacableness  that  here  was  merely  a  wayside 
inn  on  the  road  to  the  hereafter.  Immediately  inside  the 
building  one  felt  the  obligatoriness  of  hush  and  involun- 
tarily assumed  a  solemn  demeanor  and  subdued  one's 
tones  to  a  whisper.  In  the  heart  of  the  building,  away 
from  its  outward  stateliness  and  corridored  dignity,  one 
came  upon  a  desolate  barrenness,  a  conscientious  absence 
of  all  non-essentials,  an  absolute  lack  of  aestheticism  and 
pretty  comforts,  which  at  once  proclaimed  it  to  all  the 
senses  a  place  for  poor  people.  Not  a  single  cushioned 
chair  or  cosy  corner ;  not  a  single  sign  of  ease  or  warm 
decoration,  as  if  these  had  been  omitted  for  prudential 
reasons — because  the  inmates  might  come  to  look  upon 
them  as  necessities  and  make  exaggerated  demands  in- 
stead of  appreciating  what  they  were  receiving.  Every- 
thing bespoke  stability,  practicability,  to  the  very  dishes 
of  the  coarsest  heavy  stoneware.  And  pervading  the 


INDEPENDENCE  311 

whole  place  was  the  smell  of  the  poor,  that  unmistakable 
sourish  smell. 

Instead  of  the  peaceful  harmony  due  the  invalid  for 
his  environment  there  was  a  seething  turmoil,  inevitable 
in  the  promiscuous  herding  together  of  people,  which 
came  to  a  hush  only  when  it  spent  itself  or  on  occasions 
of  detecting  eyes. 

The  first  weeks,  when  Minnie  was  confined  to  bed,  she 
was  too  ill  to  make  observations,  too  close  to  the  old  life 
for  other  thought.  In  the  way  of  invalids,  her  mind 
dwelt  upon  herself.  The  fear  that  Louis  might  discover 
her  whereabouts  haunted  her  persistently.  (But  the  poor 
"paintner,"  who  lost  the  paramount  inspiration  of  his 
life,  never  learned  what  became  of  his  kalle.  And  as 
for  the  Argushes,  they  congratulated  Louis  upon  his 
escape  from  a  ttteen  mudner  mensch  (a  queer  person)  ; 
for  that,  they  were  now  convinced  all  over  again,  was 
what  Minnie  was).  She  also  lived  in  constant  dread 
that  Dr.  Joel  would  discover  she  had  not  told  him  the 
truth  when  she  had  said  she  was  an  orphan.  From  her 
own  point  of  view,  she  felt  she  had  told  the  truth ;  spirit- 
ually she  was  an  orphan ;  but  she  sensed  vaguely  that  oth- 
ers would  see  no  justification  for  her  feeling  so,  that  they 
could  imbibe  only  the  obvious. 

As  her  health  improved  her  mood  of  introspection, 
naturally,  passed  and  she  began  to  observe  the  panorama 
before  her.  All  sorts  of  distorted  forms  upon  beds,  all 
degrees  of  emaciation,  all  shades  of  pallor,  all  sorts  of 
maimed  upon  wheel  chairs,  or  struggling  along  by  the 
aid  of  sticks  or  crutches. 

Like  herself  they  were  veterans  of  the  war  of  life. 
Minnie  knew  it ;  she  knew  they  had  worked  hard  like  her- 
self, had  eaten  suppers  alternate  nights,  or  less,  had  gone 


312 

breakfastless.  They  had  lived  against  all  the  laws  of 
nature!  But  it  reached  her  understanding  only  dimly 
that  behind  her  destruction  and  theirs  was  the  whole  of 
fife  with  its  ebb  and  flow,  of  which  she  and  they  were 
the  scum  it  threw  off,  and  she  perceived  only  dimly  that 
this  vast  charity  was  as  much  a  monument  to  human 
treachery  as  to  human  goodness,  though  she  realized 
there  was  something  not  exactly  fitting  in  the  positions 
that  Grindem  and  Gold  held  in  this  philanthropy  when 
employees  in  their  large  store  were  given  wages  that 
necessitated  "living  against  all  the  laws  of  nature."  But 
exactly  wherein  lay  the  unfittingness  or  how  it  was  to  be 
remedied,  Minnie  did  not  know. 

There  was  one  thing,  however,  about  which  she  was 
clear  and  definitely  bitter;  the  ladies  of  the  Aid  Society 
of  theHelina  Heimath,  a  group  of  rich  women  who  came 
at  regular  intervals  to  bestow  small  gifts ;  an  orange,  a 
brick  of  ice  cream,  a  piece  of  cake,  a  cup  of  cocoa.  Their 
clothes  were  always  of  an  expensive,  subdued  suitability, 
of  an  elegant  propriety ;  they  always  extolled  the  "view" 
from  the  windows  of  the  Heimath  as  "purfectly  lovely," 
as  if  they  were  cracking  up  a  broken  toy  to  a  child.  It 
seemed  to  delight  them  immensely  that  the  bed  linens 
were  very  white,  and  they  seemed  to  want  to  impress 
upon  the  inmates  the  fact  that  they  had  much  to  be  grate- 
ful for.  "Why,  if  they  think  it  is  so  lovely,  don't  they 
come  here  when  they  are  sick?"  Minnie  would  think. 
Yet  when  one  of  the  ladies  stopped  to  have  a  chat  with 
her,  she  was  surprised  to  find  she  liked  the  lady  and 
would  be  ashamed  of  her  previous  hard  feelings.  "I 
guess  I'm  jealous,"  she  would  say  to  herself.  Her  eyes 
would  fill  with  tears,  and  her  young  heart  would  ache 
with  a  vague  disappointment.  She  was,  as  a  matter  of 


INDEPENDENCE  313 

fact,  jealous;  she  had  not  conceived  of  dependence  in 
connection  with  herself ;  when  she  had  pictured  herself 
a  "grown-up  lady'"  it  had  been  as  one  exactly  like  these 
who  now  patronized  her.  She  resented  her  failure; 
she  was  disappointed  in  life. 

One  visiting  day,  when  the  inmates  were  sitting  round 
the  large  ward  with  affectionate  relatives  by  their  sides 
and  bundles  of  better  eatables  than  the  Helina  Heimath 
afforded  spread  open  on  their  laps,  a  great  homesickness 
came  over  her.  No  one  visited  her  or  cared  for  her ;  no 
one  would  ever  come  to  see  her.  Was  there  really  no  one 
to  come  to  see  her  ?  Jacob  sprang  to  her  mind ;  he  was 
away  from  home  and  was  probably  feeling  as  deserted  as 
she.  She  would  ask  him  to  come.  She  would  caution 
him  not  to  tell  any  of  the  others.  The  thought  possessed 
her;  she  grew  as  excited  as  if  she  had  discovered  a  cure 
for  all  her  heartaches.  She  wrote  to  Jacob  in  delirious 
haste.  When  she  had  deposited  the  letter  in  the  mail  box, 
she  retired  to  the  one  spot  of  privacy  the  Heimath  had  to 
offer,  the  bathroom,  where,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  tub, 
she  shed  bitter  tears  of  loneliness. 

The  following  Sunday,  Jacob  stood  in  the  line  of  visi- 
tors on  the  street,  impatient  for  the  doors  to  open.  His 
mind  busily  speculated  as  to  the  condition  in  which  he 
would  find  his  sister  who  had  written  that  she  had  been 
at  the  hospital  six  months.  He  was  worried  by  visions  of 
her  reduced  to  a  skeleton,  bedridden,  in  fever,  moaning, 
groaning. 

Mirmie  stood  at  the  window,  her  eyes  feverishly  trav- 
eling along  the  line  of  visitors  until  she  spied  her  brother. 
At  sight  of  him  she  quivered  from  top  to  toe.  Her  heart 
pounded.  Would  the  line  ever  move !  She  looked  again 
to  make  sure  it  was  he.  Yes,  it  was.  He  was  the  only 


314  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

one  in  the  world  who  lifted  his  hand  like  that.  (It  was 
a  warm  day,  and  Jacob  was  wiping  the  perspiration  from 
his  forehead.)  She  felt  love  for  him  for  this  very 
uniqueness  of  gesture.  The  sound  of  "brother"  brought 
a  glow  to  her  heart,  a  lump  to  her  throat.  Oh,  if  the  line 
would  only  begin  to  move!  At  last  it  moved.  She  ran 
to  the  door  by  which  Jacob  would  enter  the  ward. 

She  was  taller,  stouter,  and  more  fully  developed  than 
when  she  had  left  home,  and  though  her  hair  still  hung 
down  her  back  in  a  plait,  there  was  a  subtle  maturity  and 
dignity  about  her.  Indeed,  the  superintendent  of  the  in- 
stitution, a  man  of  portly  belly  and  big  shaggy  beard, 
which  lent  him  an  air  of  authority,  referred  to  her  (and 
her  fellow  patients,  imitating  him,  did  the  same)  as 
"princess,"  especially  when  she  slighted  her  rations  at 
table  in  accord  with  the  dictates  of  her  palate. 

Jacob,  entering  the  door,  fairly  gasped.  Sick!  Why, 
she  was  twice  as  fat  as  she  had  ever  been !  He  felt  in- 
dignant, as  if  he  had  been  duped. 

Jacob  was  having  his  own  troubles.  Sharing  the  home 
of  the  uncle  with  whom  he  lived  was  a  daughter  whom 
the  Potter  had  moulded  most  unprepossessing.  She  was 
large  and  dark  and  clumsy  of  feature ;  moreover,  she  had 
a  foolish  laugh  and  no  brains.  Jacob  could  not  abide 
her.  Since  she  found  as  little  favor  with  young  men 
other  than  her  cousin,  her  mother  and  father  were  acting 
in  a  partnership  conspiracy  to  palm  her  off  on  Jacob. 
They  would  detain  him  for  conversation :  they  would  en- 
courage him  to  the  point  of  compulsion  to  take  her  out ; 
they  would  make  every  opportunity  for  his  contact  with 
her;  into  all  of  which  she  herself  entered  with  the  great- 
est alacrity.  Now,  Jacob  throughout  his  life  maintained 
a  sort  of  aloofness  from  people,  and  for  him  to  dwell  in 


INDEPENDENCE  3 1 5 

the  same  house  as  the  family  was  really  the  greatest  hard- 
ship; while  as  for  coming  into  actually  intimate  contact 
with  them,  especially  with  such  an  unattractive  creature 
as  Lena,  was  sheer  torture.  The  thing  disturbed  him  so, 
so  weighed  him  down  that  you  might  have  thought  that 
he,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  was  the  one  whom  Fate 
had  singled  out  for  martyrdom. 

Here  stood  Minnie,  robust,  after  having  added  a  week 
of  great  worry  to  his  already  worried  mind. 

His  frigid  response  to  her  eager  greeting  was  like  a 
dash  of  ice  water.  No  one  in  the  world  cared  a  bit 
for  her.  She  was  alone,  altogether  alone.  Her  heart 
was  wrung. 

She  led  him  silently  into  the  ward,  and  they  sat 
down. 

"Why  did  you  tell  me  you  were  sick  ?  Did  you  think 
you  had  to  frighten  me  to  bring  me?" 

She  hesitated  and  smiled  diffidently  as  she  said:  "I 
don't  look  sick  now,  do  I?" 

"SICK !  You  look  ten  times  better  than  I."  His  heart 
went  out  in  an  abundance  of  self-pity. 

Minnie's  eyes  misted.  "But  I  was  quite  sick,"  she  said. 
"I  used  to  faint  a  lot." 

Jacob  had  his  doubts. 

"How  was  it  you  waited  until  this  late  date,  then,  to 
call  me?" 

"I  didn't  want  to  tell  you  sooner.  I  waited  until  I  was 
better  on  purpose,  because  I  didn't  want  you  to  think  I 
wasn't  getting  along." 

Jacob's  soul  laughed.  Indeed,  it  was  very  likely  that 
she  would  do  that !  Why  was  she  telling  him  now,  as  if 
it  weren't  the  same  thing!  Very  likely  that  she  would 
keep  her  troubles  from  folks.  It  took  him  to  be  silent. 


316  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

There  he  was  with  worries  reaching  over  his  head  say- 
ing not  a  word  to  anybody. 

"You  frightened  me.  I  thought  you  were  dying.  I 
suppose  you  think  I  have  nothing  else  to  worry  about." 

Because  she  had  been  so  sure  that  he  was  as  homesick 
for  her  as  she  for  him,  his  words  fell  with  their  sharpest 
edge  upon  her  heart.  Her  color  rose.  She  was  outraged. 
How  much  she  had  suffered  without  ever  even  dreaming 
of  calling  any  of  them  to  her  aid  !  And  Jacob  was  wholly 
distorting  the  spirit  of  her  invitation,  ready  to  charge  her 
with  having  no  consideration.  How  she  hated  him !  Her 
self-control  snapped. 

"If  you  are  so  sorry  you  came,"  she  burst  out,  "you 
had  better  go  right  back.  You'll  wait  all  your  life  before 
I  will  want  to  see  you  again.  I  hate  you."  She  rose  from 
her  chair,  facing  him  with  fine  dignity. 

He  rose,  too.  After  he  had  come  all  that  way,  after 
he  had  made  the  sacrifice  of  refusing  an  invitation  to 
join  one  of  his  friends  in  an  outing,  after  he  had  worried 
about  her  all  the  week,  she  had  the  impudence  to  insult 
him!  He  dashed  out. 

From  the  Helina  Heimath  he  went  straight  to  the  fam- 
ily and  delivered  himself  of  his  grievance. 

"She  chased  me  out,"  was  his  description  of  the  finale 
of  his  visit. 

Sarah  had  given  many  an  hour's  worrisome  thought  to 
Minnie  during  the  months  that  had  passed  since  the  chil- 
dren had  seen  her  and  the  earth  afterward,  as  it  seemed, 
had  swallowed  her  up.  She  never  walked  the  streets 
without  keeping  a  constant  lookout;  perhaps  she  would 
meet  her  here — perhaps  she  would  see  her  there.  Once 
she  happened  to  be  in  a  millinery  shop  when  the  pro- 
prietor sent  a  message  to  a  Minnie  in  the  work-room  be 


INDEPENDENCE  317 

hind  the  shop.  It  might  be  her  Minnie!  She  insisted, 
without  explaining  why  she  did  so,  upon  being  let  into 
the  work-room.  It  was  not  her  Minnie.  Her  heart  sank. 

At  last  Jacob  came  with  word  of  her  child. 

She  made  light  of  his  complaint.  "So  long  we  missed 
her,  a  brother  ought  to  be  glad  to  know  his  sister  is 
alive." 

Sarah  was  changed.  The  double  role  of  wife  to  a 
second  husband  and  mother  to  his  stepchildren  had  re- 
awakened the  qualities  of  patience  and  endurance  in  her. 
The  pain  and  anxiety  of  witnessing  the  conflict  of  these 
two  elements,  both  of  whom  engaged  her  love,  had  sub- 
dued her,  roused  her  again,  as  it  were,  out  of  self  into 
the  wife  and  mother.  Success  of  the  bands  business  was 
subordinated  to  peace.  She  no  more  indulged  herself  in 
bursts  of  anger  and  faultfinding;  instead  she  went  about 
as  pacifier  and  mollifier,  begging  the  children  to  avoid 
irritating  Leopold,  and  Leopold  to  be  patient  with  the 
children.  With  a  tear  or  a  sigh  she  would  tacitly  remind 
him  of  the  two  runaways,  about  whom  Leopold,  in  real- 
ity, also  brooded. 

Since  Jacob  vowed  he  was  done  with  Minnie,  Sarah 
insisted  that  Beckie  and  Ida  go  to  see  her  the  very  next 
Sunday.  They,  too,  brought  back  news  that  she  looked 
robust  and  had  developed  into  a  "regular  lady,"  and 
Sarah  shed  tears  of  thanksgiving. 

For  weeks  she  went  about  with  the  one  feeling  that  if 
she  could  see  Minnie,  she  would  have  nothing  more  to 
wish  for.  But  though  she  had  the  impulse  every  Sunday 
to  join  Beckie  and  Ida  on  their  now  regular  weekly  visits, 
something  in  her  heart  held  her  back.  She  hated  to  ad- 
mit to  herself  how  guilty  she  must  seem  in  the  eyes  of 
the  too-harsh  Minnie.  She  had  sacrificed  an  oldest 


318  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

daughter  for  a  husband.  If  the  penalty  was  grief,  she 
was  paying  it  generously.  How  hard  children  could  be! 
After  all,  if  Minnie  were  not  a  child,  she  would  under- 
stand ;  she  would  not  be  so  hard  on  her  mother. 

One  Sunday  Ida  and  Beckie,  who  wanted  to  go  on  a 
trip  to  Fort  George  with  some  of  Ida's  schoolmates,  asked 
to  be  let  off  from  visiting  Minnie.  Sarah  first  used  per- 
suasion, telling  them  it  was  their  duty  to  visit  their  sister, 
then,  as  she  failed  to  achieve  the  desired  result,  she  burst 
into  a  volume  of  complaint,  contrary  to  the  present  stand- 
ards, charging  them  with  being  thoughtless  of  Minnie, 
who  would  be  waiting  for  them  and  would  "cry  her  eyes 
out."  But  the  children  insisted  they  had  a  right  to  have 
fun  one  Sunday  once  in  a  while  and  went  their  way. 

Left  alone,  as  Leopold  had  gone  to  a  lodge  meeting, 
Sarah  abandoned  herself  to  a  fit  of  weeping.  Was  ever 
mother  given  so  many  causes  for  pain  as  she?  Always 
she  was  torn  by  a  thousand  miseries.  The  children  really 
did  have  a  right  to  take  one  Sunday  for  recreation.  Yet 
Minnie  would  wait  for  them  and  she  would  doubtless  be 
heartbroken.  Sarah  sighed  and  sighed  as  she  went  about 
the  house  dully.  Life  was  too  bitter,  life  was  too  bitter. 
It  was  tears,  tears,  tears,  if  not  for  want  of  bread  then 
for  other  things,  never  had  she  known  a  day  free  from 
care  or  sadness. 

Then  her  heart  was  carried  on  a  new  wave  of  thought 
to  Minnie.  Minnie,  too,  was  having  a  hard  life.  She 
had  been  sick.  Many  things,  doubtless,  had  made  her 
sick.  Child  that  she  was,  she  had  carried  her  resolution 
to  be  independent  to  the  very  limit,  until  it  had  made  her 
sick.  Goodness  knew  where  she  had  lived,  what  she  had 
eaten,  whether  in  the  winter  she  had  worn  warm  under- 
wear. Her  Minnie  was  to  have  a  life  like  hers — full  of 


INDEPENDENCE  319 

struggle,  full  of  suffering.  Because  her  nature  was  the 
very  same  as  her  mother's — firm,  determined  to  fight  the 
fates — the  fates  would  play  the  game  with  her.  She 
could  not  stand  it  another  day — not  another  minute — 
she  had  to  see  the  child — her  oldest  girl — dear  to  her  as 
the  others. 

She  went  into  the  bedroom,  rummaged  in  a  bureau 
drawer  for  a  fresh  handkerchief,  and  stood  a  few  mo- 
ments weeping  into  it,  then  pulled  down  her  shirtwaist, 
brushed  her  hair,  put  on  her  hat  and  walked  resolutely 
out. 

Though  she  took  the  car  that  she  had  heard  the  chil- 
dren say  went  to  the  Helina  Heimath,  she  rose  nervously 
time  and  again  to  ask  the  conductor  if  they  had  not  al- 
ready passed  the  place — it  was  taking  so  long.  But  when 
finally  a  big  voice  called  out  Helina  Heimath,  Sarah  re- 
mained seated,  her  mind  a  thousand  leagues  away,  occu- 
pied with  Jacob's  fate  at  Minnie's  hands.  Would  Min- 
nie chase  her  out,  too?  She  felt  as  if  she  could  not 
stand  it,  as  if  her  heart  must  break  if  that  came  to  pass. 
With  such  a  wilful  girl  as  Minnie,  who  could  tell  what 
her  imagined  grievances  could  not  lead  her  to  do?  Per- 
haps she  so  blamed  her  only  mother  that  she  could  slap 
her  face.  God!  God!  what  a  hard  life! 

"Wake  up,  missus,"  the  conductor  roared,  "ain't  you 
been  asking  all  day  for  the  Helina  Heimath?" 

Sarah  blinked.  Hastily  gathering  together  three  purple 
asters,  which  she  had  stopped  to  buy  for  Minnie,  she 
scrambled  out. 

She  saw  a  huge,  gray  building.  She  stopped  short. 
The  place  seemed  familiar.  She  looked  at  the  front 
door.  Yes,  that  was  the  entrance.  Good  God !  the  coun- 
try! the  place  where  the  girl's  father  had  died!  How 


320  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

could  one  bear  all!  The  cry  went  through  her  soul  in 
weird  minor  notes  like  a  wind  dying  out.  She  remem- 
bered instantly  with  what  a  heavy  heart,  with  what  la- 
bored footsteps  she  had  ascended  that  same  stoop  be- 
fore. She  lived  through  again  every  sensation  of  fright, 
every  sensation  of  grief,  all  the  torture,  and  misery,  and 
despair  following  Elias's  death.  .  .  .  Minnie  was  here! — 
here  where  her  father  had  died!  .  .  .  What  a  life — 
what  a  life!  .  .  .  She  felt  as  if  she  could  not  bear  an- 
other moment  of  it;  as  if  she  would  find  comfort  in 
disappearing  under  the  stones  of  the  pavement.  She 
kept  her  head  bowed  and  her  eyes,  with  the  look  in  them 
of  a  soul  in  torture,  riveted  to  the  ground. 

Aimlessly,  with  a  lassitude  pathetic  in  one  so  full  of 
energy,  she  walked  round  and  round  and  round  the 
block  thinking,  marvelling,  almost  like  a  child,  at  the  com- 
plexity of  her  life,  how  from  girlhood  on  everything  had 
always  happened  to  involve  her  in  a  fate  darker  than  that 
of  any  of  the  women  she  had  known.  Even  Mira,  that 
red-headed,  coarse  Mira,  had  fared  so  much  better  than 
she.  What  had  she  ever  done  to  deserve  it  all — not  to  be 
a  mother  in  peace,  not  to  be  a  wife  in  peace ;  and  to  have 
known  such  poverty  as  she  had  known,  to  have  struggled, 
struggled  for  whom  more  than  for  her  children? — And 
now  her  oldest  daughter,  the  oldest  daughter  in  whom  all 
mothers  took  the  greatest  pride,  was  landed  in  a  home 
for  incurables,  in  the  same  home  where  her  father  had 
been  at  the  time  of  their  desperate  poverty !  As  if  Min- 
nie needed  to  have  had  such  a  thing  befall  her ;  if  only  the 
girl  had  been  reasonably  tolerant,  reasonably  obedient, 
reasonably  agreeable.  What  an  unlucky  woman  she  was, 
what  an  unlucky  woman ! 

She  passed  the  entrance  door  for  visitors  again,  as  she 


INDEPENDENCE  321 

had  a  number  of  times,  without  noticing  that  the  people 
had  not  only  been  in  but  had  also  come  out  and  the  place 
was  already  closed  to  visitors.  She  stood  turning  the 
knob  of  the  gate,  looking  helplessly  up  at  the  mute  struc- 
ture. A  hand  motioned  to  her  from  a  window  in  a  wing 
of  the  building,  directing  her  to  the  front  entrance. 

She  ascended  the  stoop  of  old.  Something  in  her  heart 
moaned,  and  such  a  heavy  sigh  escaped  her,  such  a 
hunted  look  was  on  her  face  that  the  doorkeeper  in- 
formed her  with  especial  courtesy  that  the  visiting-hour 
was  over,  and  even  added  that  he  was  sorry. 

Sarah  slunk  off  like  a  beaten  animal,  while  Minnie, 
having  watched  and  waited  for  her  two  sisters  like  a  suf- 
ferer for  relief,  locked  herself  in  the  bathroom  and  shed 
the  tears  of  the  forlorn.  No  one  cared  for  her.  They 
had  come  a  few  weeks  and  now  they  meant  to  come  no 
more.  It  was  too  much  "bother."  Nobody  loved  her. 

XXIV 

Another  month,  and  the  Heimath's  gift  of  an  oppor- 
tunity for  proper  living  had  rendered  Minnie  a  remark- 
able contradiction  to  its  "incurable"  character.  She 
looked  hale  and  hearty.  Indeed,  the  board  of  directors 
and  the  Ladies  of  the  Aid  Society,  upheld  in  their  opinion 
by  the  superintendent,  who  took  his  clue  from  the  medical 
end  of  the  establishment,  began  to  think  seriously  of  dis- 
charging her. 

In  earnest  consultation  assembled,  the  wielders  of  des- 
tinies in  the  Helina  Heimath,  the  Directors  and  the  La^- 
dies,  discussed  what  to  do  with  Minnie  now  that  she  was 
ready  to  be  discharged. 

Minnie   Mendel,   aged   sixteen   and   a   half,   unkindly 


322  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

treated  at  home  by  a  stepfather — where  could  she  be 
placed  to  live?  A  number  of  propositions  were  consid- 
ered, and  finally  the  suggestion  that  she  be  lodged  at  the 
Alpha  Home  for  Working  Girls  was  put  in  the  form  of 
a  motion,  seconded,  duly  debated,  and  carried.  Next 
came  the  problem  of  her  livelihood.  The  Alpha  Home 
required  three  dollars  a  week  for  her  maintenance.  Had 
the  girl  a  trade?  No.  There  followed  silent  interroga- 
tion of  eyes,  then  a  portly  gentleman  of  excellent  decorum 
and  without  doubt  of  a  good  heart,  else  why  should  he 
have  left  his  easy  chair  at  home  for  the  mission  of  alms, 
whose  every  gesture  indicated  that  he  was  accustomed 
to  handling  matters  of  far  greater  import  than  the  mere 
placing  of  a  girl  at  a  trade,  offered  his  metal  establish- 
ment as  a  solution.  This  proposal,  too,  was  moved  and 
seconded  and  carried ;  and  the  case  of  Mildred  Mendel 
was  dismissed ;  there  were  other  cases  up  that  needed 
similar  consideration. 

The  announcement  of  her  discharge  was  a  shock  at 
first  to  Minnie,  filling  her  with  terror  of  a  repetition  of 
her  old  life.  Then  she  was  glad.  It  was  impossible  that 
she  would  have  to  live  again  in  a  kitchen  on  the  East 
Side,  or  work  in  a  shop.  They  knew  it  had  been  this  that 
had  made  her  sick,  and  after  having  gone  to  all  the 
trouble  of  curing  her,  what  sense  would  there  be  in  send- 
ing her  back  to  such  conditions?  Yet  she  had  relapses 
to  fear.  What,  what  if  they  were,  after  all,  to  make  her 
go  back  to  a  shop,  to  a  store  and  to  the  East  Side !  She 
had  no  profession  or  trade  and  she  had  no  money.  What 
would  become  of  her? 

At  night  when  the  other  patients  in  the  ward  were 
asleep,  her  eyes  wandered  over  their  forms  of  divers  dis- 
tortions, bedridden  for  the  rest  of  life  perhaps ;  and  even 


INDEPENDENCE  323 

though  her  heart  ached  for  them,  it  gladdened  for  her- 
self, that  she  was  better,  that  she  could  leave  the  bed 
of  charity  for  the  world  of  independence.  "But  only  if 
I  don't  have  to  work  in  a  shop — only  if  I  could  have  a 
room  for  myself  in  a  clean  place!  Dear  me!  that  isn't 
asking  for  so  much !  So  many  people  have  it,  why  can't 
I?  I  would  be  so  happy!"  Here  the  tears  would  come 
and  she  would  have  to  draw  the  covers  over  her  head  to 
keep  the  others  from  hearing  her  weep. 

As  if  in  answer  to  her  prayer,  one  of  the  ladies  of  the 
Aid  Society  came  to  her  one  day  and  after  stroking  her 
hair,  which  she  proclaimed  was  arranged  in  a  pompadour 
that  was  "just  the  thing"  and  smiling  down  upon  her 
benignly,  told  her  that  this  experience  of  hers  was  to  be 
followed  by  one  at  least  equally  as  wonderful,  that  she 
was  to  live  in  the  Alpha  Home  for  Working  Girls,  "a 
nice,  clean,  lovely  home  for  girls,  a  purfectly  splendid 
place." 

The  girl's  heart  turned  a  somersault  for  joy.  Hadn't 
she  just  known  that  the  past  could  not  repeat  itself ! 

For  days  she  trod  on  air,  her  joy  expressing  itself  in 
dreams  of  coming  back  to  the  Heimath  on  visits  with  a 
large  bundle  of  foodstuffs,  cheese,  smoked  salmon,  sweet 
butter,  dill  pickles,  olives,  herring.  Each  patient  was  to 
receive  her  favorite  delicacy.  She  would  live  through 
scene  after  scene  of  the  sort  until  she  fell  into  a  state  of 
delicious  eagerness  for  the  time  to  arrive  when  she  would 
be  leaving. 

One  day  word  came  from  the  superintendent's  quar- 
ters that  she  was  to  accompany  an  attendant  to  Maiden 
Lane  to  make  arrangements  for  a  position. 

As  if  by  magic  the  heavens  turned  suddenly  pitch- 
black.  Minnie's  heart  stood  still,  then  hammered  and 


324  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

hammered.  Oh,  God,  not  a  shop !  Not  a  store !  Not  a 
shop!  When  her  mind  interfered  with  common  sense  to 
ask  what  else  she  was  prepared  to  do,  she  wanted  to 
strike  at  it  with  her  fists.  What  right  had  it  to  come  in 
with  its  practical  complacency.  If  only  it  would  be  an 
office,  not  a  store,  not  a  shop!  Oh,  if  only  it  would  be 
an  office!  Maybe  now  there  were  offices  that  did  not 
always  want  shorthand.  She  could  put  her  hair  up  and 
look  more  like  "a  grown-up  lady." 

Trembling  with  nervousness  she  lent  herself  to  some 
half-dozen  hands  and  as  many  contrary  opinions  for 
dressing  up.  One  woman  tied  her  hair  with  a  red  ribbon, 
another  one's  opinion  prevailed  that  black  was  more  suit- 
able. One  told  her  to  wear  a  one-piece  dress,  another  a 
waist  and  skirt. 

The  patients  stood  at  the  window,  some  half-dozen  of 
them,  waving  her  good-by,  envious  and  sympathetic. 
When  she  turned  out  of  sight,  they  moved  away,  sighing, 
already  wondering  when  she  would  come  back  and 
whether  she  would  procure  the  position.  Probably  it  was 
"by  a  director" — no  small  honor.  Indeed,  one  needed  to 
be  "smart,"  "an  American  one,"  to  aspire  to  such  a  place. 

Three  hours  later  Minnie  returned,  her  lips  tight-set, 
her  face  pale.  The  friendly  patients  came  eagerly  for- 
ward. With  a  single  glance  she  frightened  them  away 
and  walked  fast  and  stiffly  to  her  bed,  where  she  stood 
for  a  moment  rigid,  then  fell  upon  it  in  a  heap,  shrieking 
hysterically.  The  medical  profession  was  brought  hurry- 
ing upon  the  scene.  She  was  questioned. 

"I  WON'T  work  in  a  shop!  I  WON'T!  I'd  sooner 
die !"  she  cried. 

Her  sobs  were  the  tune  of  a  deep  hatred  that  was  grip- 
ping her  soul,  a  hatred  of  the  circumstances  that  made 


INDEPENDENCE  325 

her  subject  to  the  will  of  others.  The  Helina  Heimath 
suddenly  loomed  up  as  the  epitome  of  all  horror,  as  a 
dumping  ground  for  ruined  humans,  and  a  soul  repair 
shop  for  the  conscience-stricken  rich  that  they  might  not 
lose  their  chance  also  in  heaven.  She  hated  it — hated 
her  dependence.  She  swore  she  would  be  a  dependent  no 
more,  never  in  her  life  again. 

That  their  good  work  should  not  be  undone,  the  author- 
ities of  the  Heimath  readily  agreed  that  some  plan  should 
be  devised  more  in  accord  with  the  girl's  own  desires. 
She  was  consulted.  She  wanted  to  learn  shorthand. 
And  shorthand  she  was  taught — by  Sarah's  "golden 
lady." 

The  first  person  Minnie  had  met  when  Dr.  Joel 
brought  her  to  the  Helina  Heimath  was  Ella  Liebman, 
who  was  now  secretary  there.  It  had  instantly  sprung 
into  Minnie's  mind — and  greatly  worried  her — that  here 
was  someone  who  knew  of  her  past  and  would  disillusion 
Dr.  Joel  concerning  her  orphanhood.  One  day  she  made 
a  clean  breast  of  it. 

"Miss  Liebman,"  she  said,  "I  told  Dr.  Joel  I  have  no 
mother.  The  truth  is,  my  mother  married  a  man  who, 
though  he  was  recommended  by  friends " 

Miss  Liebman  laughed,  long  and  merrily,  but  in  so  in- 
dulgent a  tone  and  with  such  an  affectionate  look,  that 
Minnie  went  on : 

"And  he  turned  out  very  mean  and  I  left  home " 

Miss  Liebman  divined  the  girl's  fears. 

"We  understand.     Don't  worry,"  she  said. 

Thereafter  she  became  Minnie's  "golden  lady." 


PART   II 
SARAH'S    DAUGHTER 


PART  II 
SARAH'S  DAUGHTER 

Minnie  sat  at  the  small  table  in  her  small,  neat  room 
in  the  Alpha  Home  for  Working  Girls,  a  pad  of  paper, 
ink  and  a  newspaper  before  her.  She  wrote : 

"I  beg  leave  to  make  application  for  the  position  of 
stenographer  as  per  your  advertisement  in  this  morning's 
New  York  World!' 

A  novel  sense  of  dignity  warmed  her  soul.  A  full- 
fledged  stenographer !  An  office  to  be  her  objective — and 
nothing  in  the  way  to  bar  her.  What  different  times  from 
those  of  the  Titanic  Biscuit  Company!  Those  awful 
days!  She  sighed.  Though  those  times  seemed  already 
in  the  distant  past,  thought  of  them  made  one  sigh — 
made  one's  gladness  in  a  present  seem  a  bit  lop-sided 
somehow.  "How  could  mama  have  been  so  indifferent !" 
she  wondered  as  she  sat  chewing  the  end  of  her  pen- 
holder, her  eyes  staring  into  vacancy.  "I  might  have 
been  ruined  by  Joe — by  that  doctor.  I  might  have  mar- 
ried Louis.  What  a  baby  I  was!"  Her  sophisticated 
companions  at  the  Heimath  had  taught  Minnie  things. 

The  summons  bell  rang  in  the  hall  and  in  a  moment  a 
girl's  voice  called:  "Mildred  Mendel,  the  superintendent 
wants  you  in  her  office." 

Fifteen  minutes  later  Minnie  was  seated  in  the  street 
car  all  excited  because  she  was  on  the  way  to  see  about 
a  position  as  stenographer  which  the  superintendent  had 

329 


330  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

thought  she  could  fill.  ...  In  an  hour  she  came  back 
bubbling  over  with  happiness,  for  she  had  been  found 
satisfactory  and  had  been  engaged.  At  the  door  of  the 
Alpha  Home  her  happy  bubbles  broke.  She  was  met  by 
the  girl  who  had  summoned  her  to  the  superintendent's 
office,  and  was  asked: 

"Well,  did  you  get  the  position?" 

"Yes." 

"Yes?    Oh,  how  nice.    Where — in  what  place?" 

In  what  place  ?  The  place  had  not  occurred  to  Minnie, 
somehow  it  had  not  mattered.  Minnie  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment speechless.  She  dropped  her  eyes  and  voice: 

"Why,  the  Peoples  Charities "  she  replied. 

A  queer  sensation  played  in  her  breast  as  she  made  her 
way  to  the  superintendent's  office  to  tell  the  result  of  her 
interview.  "What  would  mama  say,  I  wonder !"  she  was 

thinking. 

****** 

Among  her  duties  was  interviewing  applicants.  She 
found  herself  the  first  day,  while  waiting  for  the  chief 
clerk  to  bring  her  working  paraphernalia,  facing  a  room- 
ful of  drab  humanity  in  the  Employment  Bureau  in  the 
basement  of  the  Peoples  Charities  building.  How  curi- 
ously alike  they  all  looked — though  their  features  were 
so  different!  They  were  scrutinizing  the  new  "Lady" 
with  a  hush  upon  them,  broken  by  subdued  whispers, 
which  marks  people  under  constraint.  In  their  humble 
hearts  was  awe,  the  shadow  of  dependence.  Was  it  their 
obvious  awe  of  the  new  personage  behind  the  desk 
that  caused  Minnie  to  straighten  up  in  her  chair  with  a 
slender  feeling  of  self-esteem?  A  very  slender  feeling 
and  one  that  soon  passed. 

"How  haggard  and  anxious  they  look !"     Her  young 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  331 

heart  ached  for  this  lot  of  suffering  humanity,  huddled 
together  in  this  stuffy  basement.  She  strained  her  eyes 
to  see  them  more  clearly  as  if  to  bring  the  realness  of 
themselves  to  themselves  closer  to  herself.  They  were 
human  beings  just  as  her  mother  was  a  human  being, 
who,  like  them,  had  once  sat  right  there  waiting  for  the 
very  same  thing,  to  be  given  work  as  if  it  were  charity. 
She  in  one  of  their  seats  would  seem  as  strange  to  an- 
other seated  where  she  was.  In  the  Helina  Heimath  she 
had  doubtless  seemed  as  strange  to  a  visitor. 

The  chief  clerk  appeared  to  put  her  to  work. 

The  first  days  of  her  new  position  were  hard.  Like  all 
sensitive  people,  Minnie  stood  in  awe  of  her  superiors, 
was,  as  a  consequence,  easily  rattled  and  made  blunders. 
But  she  fought  hard  with  herself,  and  if  she  did  not  over- 
come her  nervousness,  she  at  least  managed  to  conceal  it. 
She  rested  her  elbow  on  the  desk  to  steady  her  trembling 
hand  and  questioned  the  applicants  in  the  lowest  voice 

to  keep  others  from  detecting  her  shyness. 

****** 

Months  passed,  each  day  bringing  a  host  of  wretched 
human  beings  to  the  Charities  doors.  There  were  old 
faces,  new  faces,  old  tales,  new  tales. 

Though  poverty  was  no  secret  to  Minnie,  she  had  never 
before  consciously  appreciated  the  endless  sordidness 
with  which  it  joined  hands.  Beginning  with  the  physical 
ugliness  to  which  it  reduced  its  victims,  the  demon  forged 
on  and  on  tirelessly,  mercilessly,  driving  men  to  desert 
women,  women  to  loathe  men,  children  to  curse  both. 
.  Minnie  suffered.  She  walked  about  with  a  troubled 
face  and  such  an  abstracted  manner  that  her  co-workers 
put  her  down  as  queer,  and  smiled  and  talked  about  her 
in  whispers. 


332  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

In  her  mental  struggle  Minnie  would  appeal  to  Miss 
Liebman.  Teacher  and  pupil  had  become  close  friends. 
Did  Miss  Liebman  think  there  was  a  God?  Did  she 
think  He  approved  of  poverty?  Did  she  think  the  poor 
themselves  were  responsible  for  their  poverty?  But  if 
they  were  ignorant,  untrained,  diseased,  how  could  they 
be  held  responsible  any  more  than  a  man  may  be  held 
responsible  for  a  hooked  nose? 

Ella  Liebman,  who  had  gone  through  precisely  such  a 
period  of  spiritual  unrest,  understood  and  sympathized, 
but  in  her  greater  wisdom,  she  suggested  that  it  was 
better  not  to  think  about  such  things  since  one  never 
reached  a  conclusion.  Far  from  satisfying,  this  only 
made  Minnie  the  more  restless  and  caused  her  to  long 
for  sympathetic  companionship. 

Now  and  then  she  made  advances  to  her  fellow-work- 
ers; but  if  her  aloofness  seemed  queer  to  them,  her  talk 
seemed  still  queerer.  Did  anyone  ever  hear  of  such  a 
thing  as  whether  a  person  deserved  to  be  poor !  A  man 
was  poor — sufficient  explanation  in  itself,  and  the  end 
of  it.  Did  God  approve  of  poverty?  As  if  everything 
were  not  in  God's  hands,  including  the  power  to  make  a 
man  rich  or  poor. 

They  flocked  together,  called  Minnie  a  "nut"  and  forth- 
with took  every  opportunity  to  avoid  her.  And  Minnie 
now  avoided  them  with  ten  times  the  conscientiousness 
that  they  avoided  her. 

Occasionally  she  tried  to  talk  to  the  Alpha  Home  girls, 
but  never  felt  drawn  to  any  of  them. 

But  still  she  yearned  for  companionship,  for  someone 
with  whom  she  could  talk.  A  few  times  she  tried  to  un- 
burden herself  to  Ida  and  Beckie,  who  often  visited  her. 
Beckie  would  listen  even  if  she  did  not  understand ;  but 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  333 

Ida,  who  was  bored  and  disgusted,  would  find  pretexts 
for  interrupting.  Had  Minnie  seen  the  cat  that  just 
passed?  Did  she  feel  hot  or  cold?  And  such  obvious 
boredom  invariably  played  upon  her  face  that  Minnie, 
flushing,  was  reduced  to  silence. 

Often  Minnie  wondered  what  sort  of  a  person  Abie 
Ratkin  was  now  grown  into  and  whether  he  wondered 
the  same  about  her.  And  Gregory  Chernin,  what  was  he 
like  now?  Did  he  and  Abie  have  other  girls  for  friends? 
A  sigh. 

Late  one  evening,  coming  home  from  a  walk,  she 
passed  the  sitting-room  and  looked  in  enviously  at  the 
girls  talking  and  laughing.  Amelia  Rubin,  a  Russian- 
Jewish  shirtwaist  operator,  who  sat  next  to  Minnie  at 
table,  but  to  whom  Minnie  had  paid  no  attention  because 
of  her  foreignness,  called  to  Minnie  eagerly  to  come  in. 
She  was  at  a  loss  to  entertain  her  "gentleman  caller." 

Minnie  walked  in  shyly. 

In  a  broad,  foreign  accent  Amelia  Rubin  introduced 
Morris  Caplan,  a  medium-sized  man  of  about  thirty-six, 
who  rose  clumsily  and  acknowledged  the  introduction 
with  "Pleezed  te  mee'  che!"  A  heavy  gold  watch  chain 
threaded  through  a  lower  buttonhole  of  his  waistcoat  and 
draped  over  to  a  pocket,  called  attention  to  his  slight 
tendency  to  a  paunch.  Upon  his  large,  healthily  colored 
face  set  with  a  broad  nose,  generous  mouth  and  kind 
blue  eyes,  there  played  a  smile  of  good  nature. 

Amelia  Rubin,  a  thin,  weazened  little  creature,  wearing 
an  unpretty,  stiffly-starched  shirtwaist,  which  brought  out 
the  lines  of  bitterness  on  her  small,  sallow  face  and,  by 
creasing  in  the  back,  exaggerated  the  roundness  of  her 
shoulders,  brushed  loose  strands  of  her  straight  black 


334  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

hair  away  from  her  ears  and  screwed  up  her  small  brown 
eyes. 

"Mr.  Caplan,"  she  said,  addressing  Minnie  in  an 
aggrieved  tone,  "don't  believe  it  that  it's  worser  half 
slavery  like  whole." 

Mr.  Caplan  looked  uncomfortable  and  was  about  to 
say  that  Miss  Rubin  was  misquoting  him  when  Minnie 
asked : 

"What  does  that  mean  ?" 

"Like  to  work  wit'  small  wages,  not  to  eat,  not  to 
starve." 

Mr.  Caplan  looked  round  the  room  as  in  search  of  a 
way  of  escape.  It  is  characteristic  of  the  Russian  Jew 
dubbed  "kike"  to  be  bored  by  the  precocious  wisdom  of 
the  women  of  his  own  class. 

Morris  Caplan  was  a  radical ;  he  believed  in  the  equal- 
ity of  all  mankind,  in  the  abolition  of  wage  slavery,  but 
he  was  Amelia  Rubin's  senior  by  ten  years,  a  successful 
real-estate  dealer  with  a  substantial  bank  account  upon 
which  his  head  rested  comfortably,  and  so  past  the  age 
and  stage  of  extravagant  protest.  Amelia  Rubin  bored 
him,  but  she  was  a  compatriot  of  his;  their  families  on 
the  other  side  were  allied  in  the  friendship  that  shares 
pots  and  pans  and  funeral  expenses,  so  he  had  to  see  her 
occasionally  to  be  able  to  send  news  of  her  to  the  other 
side. 

Amelia,  for  her  part,  was  in  love  with  Morris  Caplan 
and  talked  sagely  in  the  hope  of  interesting  him,  while  he, 
out  of  politeness,  would  grudgingly  take  up  the  discus- 
sions she  initiated.  But  this  evening  he  made  it  obvious 
that  he  was  bored.  She  had  been  trying  to  convince  him, 
regardless  of  whether  he  was  already  convinced  or  not, 
that  the  wage  slave  is  as  much  of  a  slave  as  the  chattel 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  335 

slave.  To  her  clumsy  presentation  he  had,  out  of  sheer 
capriciousness,  answered  that  "Half  is  half  and  whole  is 
whole — twice  as  much,"  his  tone  so  frankly  implying  that 
he  was  not  interested  that  Amelia  had  taken  refuge  in 
calling  in  Minnie. 

Amelia's  explanation  made  her  statement  no  clearer  to 
Minnie. 

"I  still  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

She  spoke  without  an  accent.  Morris  Caplan  was  in- 
terested. Though  he  had  been  ready  to  go  a  moment  be- 
fore, he  straightened  up  and  rested  his  eyes  on  the  new- 
comer. She  looked  American-born,  and  her  dark  blue 
serge  dress  trimmed  with  a  white  collar  brought  out  the 
gray  of  her  eyes. 

Morris  Caplan  smiled  indulgently,  feeling  infinitely 
older  than  either  of  the  girls. 

"Amelia  wants  to  inform  me  like  a  big  piece  of  news 
that  small  wages  makes  big  troubles." 

Minnie  burst  into  a  merry,  but  not  boisterous  giggle. 
The  quality  of  restraint  in  her  laugh  affected  Morris  Cap- 
lan, as  it  had  others,  with  a  sense  of  modesty  in  her  and 
reserve.  Sitting  there  blushing,  she  made  a  feminine  con- 
trast to  Amelia,  who  had  responded  by  a  smile  and  a 
wise  nod  of  her  head,  as  if  to  say:  "Indeed,  this  time 
Morris  Caplan  had  been  the  sage." 

"I  work  in  the  Peoples  Charities,  and  my  goodness! 
tHere  you  see  the  horrors  of  small  wages  and  the  greater 
horrors  of  no  wages  at  all." 

Minnie's  listeners  were  inspired  with  deference.  One 
so  seldom  heard  words  of  good  sense  from  the  average 
American  girl. 

"What  you  workin'  there  by  ?"  asked  Amelia. 

"I'm  a  stenographer,"  Minnie  replied  self-consciously, 


336  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

proud  to  be  able  to  say  so,  though  after  she  had  spoken, 
her  words  sounded  in  her  own  soul  like  bragging.  For  a 
moment  the  past  of  shop  and  store  hovered  close. 

Morris  Caplan  gave  her  a  look  of  generous  approval 
and  was  glad  of  her  presence.  Life  for  him  was  dull. 
Having  been  all-engrossed  in  his  business  for  a  number 
of  years,  he  had  had  no  time  for  making  friends,  and 
now  that  he  was  ready  for  them,  he  found  that  those  of 
his  own  educational  and  intellectual  standing  did  not  sat- 
isfy him  and  those  of  greater  attainments,  especially  girls, 
made  no  response  to  his  advances,  while  the  American 
girls  that  tolerated  him  did  so  only  for  the  "good  time" 
his  money  bought.  Here  was  a  girl  living  in  a  home  for 
poor  girls  who  probably  had  as  yet  no  assessed  valuation 
upon  herself.  In  his  longing  for  comrades  of  superior 
mentality  and  culture,  his  heart  leapt  to  the  possibilities 
of  Minnie  as  a  friend. 

The  gong  for  the  dismissal  of  visitors  sounded.  Mor- 
ris Caplan  rose  to  go. 

"  'Ope  to  mee'  che  again,  Mees  Mendel." 

Minnie  shook  hands  with  him.  As  he  walked  to  the 
door  escorted  by  Amelia,  she  was  not  sure,  looking  at  his 
stocky  figure  and  clumsy  walk  and  with  his  offensive  ac- 
cent sounding  in  her  ears,  whether  she  hoped  to  meet 
him  again.  While  she  undressed  for  bed,  he  still  occu- 
pied her  thoughts.  Who  was  he?  What  was  he?  In 
her  need  for  companionship  she  rather  hoped  she  would 
meet  him  again. 

XXVI 

A  long  line  of  needy  ones  waited  to  be  heard  in  the 
Charities  employment  bureau.  The  windows  were  closed 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  337 

against  the  rain,  and  the  thick  atmosphere  reeked  with 
the  sour  stench  of  poor  people.  Under  a  siege  of  light- 
saving  the  room  was  gloomily  dim. 

Minnie  had  put  the  same  questions  about  a  dozen 
times:  with  thumb  pointing  upward,  "How  many  chil- 
dren have  you  over  fourteen  years  ?"  with  thumb  pointing 
downward,  "How  many  children  have  you  under  four- 
teen years?" 

The  man  confronting  her  looked  like  an  animated 
skeleton  to  which  a  stubby  beard  only  added  the  more 
gruesomeness.  He  dropped  his  eyes,  in  which  tears  had 
gathered,  then,  as  if  bracing  himself  for  a  high  jump, 
said  with  dignity  and  in  a  low  voice: 

"I  had  six  children.  The  four  older  ones  died.  The 
two  left  are  under  fourteen." 

Far  from  becoming  inured  to  the  misery  that  surged 
through  the  doors  of  the  Peoples  Charities,  Minnie  felt 
the  applicants'  misfortunes  with  greater  and  greater  keen- 
ness. A  dull  heartache,  now  constantly  with  her,  was 
accentuated  to  a  painful  smart  by  each  new  account  of 
suffering.  She  sat  silent  a  while,  finding  it  difficult,  as 
she  often  had  of  late,  to  fix  her  mind  on  her  work. 
But  the  record  card,  on  which  her  eyes  were  lowered, 
stared  a  reminder.  She  had  not  yet  extracted  all  the 
required  information. 

"What  is  your  name,  please?" 

"Chayim  Schlopoborsky." 

She  raised  her  eyes,  her  lower  jaw  dropped  slightly, 
her  hand  remained  poised  in  the  air. 

Chayim  Schlopoborsky  shuffled  uneasily  under  her 
stare. 

Minnie  looked  round  the  room,  called  to  another  girl 


338  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

to  take  her  place,  and  fled  to  an  ante-room  where  the 
tears  came  in  a  rush. 

"He  perjured  his  soul  by  throwing  us  out  of  the  cellar 
so  that  he  could  bring  his  children  away  from  pogroms, 
and  now  they  are  dead !"  Minnie  sobbed  to  herself.  "I 
suppose  they  went  from  cellar  to  cellar  until  they  reached 
the  lowest  one!  What  an  awful  life!" 

But  she  mustn't  stay  away  too  long.  Drying  her  eyes, 
she  returned  to  work.  Approaching  her  desk,  she  heard 
her  substitute's  voice  raised  in  admonition. 

"Why  don't  you  show  a  little  more  enthusiasm?  One 
would  think  you  were  doing  tis  a  favor!" 

The  substitute  had  proposed  a  position  at  which  the 
work  was  soling  shoes  by  machine.  Chayim  Schlopo- 
borsky  had  hesitated  diffidently,  wishing  to  say  he  could 
do  better  by  hand,  as  he  had  never  worked  a  machine. 

"Don't  you  dare!"  Minnie,  quickly  stepping  forward, 
cried  in  an  unnaturally  suppressed  voice.  "He  is  a  human 
being  just  like  you.  You  don't  know  when  your  turn  to 
stand  behind  this  counter  will  come." 

The  substitute  was  too  surprised  to  retort,  but  the  ex- 
pression of  her  eyes  gave  promise  of  a  sequel. 

It  was  difficult  the  rest  of  the  day  for  Minnie  to  put 
her  mind  on  her  work.  The  scene  left  her  overwrought, 
with  flushes  of  lingering  indignation,  followed  by  chills 
of  waxing  nervousness  as  to  a  possibly  disastrous  issue 
to  herself.  It  was  an  audacious  act.  Would  the  girl 
complain  about  her,  and  would  she  be  scolded  or  would 
they  do  worse  and  discharge  her?  In  optimistic  mo- 
ments she  welcomed  complaint  as  giving  her  the  oppor- 
tunity she  had  sometimes  desired  to  tell  the  superintend- 
ent that  the  applicants  were  often  abused  and  to  suggest 
that  unsympathetic  people  ought  not  to  be  employed  in 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  339 

the  Charities.  But  optimistic  moments  were  rare.  She 
knew  herself ;  in  front  of  the  chief  she  would  be  tongue- 
tied,  the  beating  of  her  heart  would  stiffle  her  thoughts. 
She  hated  herself  for  her  nervousness.  .  .  .  Reverting 
to  Chayim  Schlopoborsky,  she  wondered  whether  the 
service  she  had  rendered  him  outweighed  the  injury  she 
had  done  herself.  She  had  acted  right,  she  assured  her- 
self, and  was  glad  she  had  spoken  out.  On  her  way  home 
she  breathed  in  the  fresh  air  gratefully,  as  if  it  were  a 
gift. 

Minnie  had  had  a  few  talks  with  Amelia  Rubin. 
Though  her  philosophy  was  trite  enough  to  Morris  Cap- 
Ian,  it  was  not  so  to  Minnie,  who  found  it  echoed  un- 
formulated  thoughts  of  her  own ;  and  but  for  Amelia's 
uncouthness  and  almost  unintelligible  language,  she  would 
have  given  herself  up  freely  to  friendship  with  her. 
Minnie  was  at  the  flapper  stage  of  extreme  stress  of  the 
aesthetic. 

This  evening,  however,  she  forgot  her  distaste  in  her 
eagerness  to  pour  out  her  heart  to  someone ;  she  ap- 
proached Amelia  with  the  easy  familiarity  of  much  more 
than  a  week's  acquaintance  and  asked  her  to  go  out  for  a 
walk.  But  Amelia — she  was  very  sorry — had  arranged 
with  another  girl  to  attend  a  Peoples'  Symphony  Concert. 
Minnie  was  desolate.  With  a  slight  tremor,  but  with  an 
attempt  at  a  smile,  she  assured  Amelia  it  was  "all  right," 
they  could  take  a  walk  together  some  other  time,  and 
hurried  back  to  her  room. 

Here  she  tried  to  read  Plays,  Pleasant  and  Unpleasant, 
but  was  too  restless  to  get  interested,  and  soon  threw 
the  book  down  to  comb  her  hair.  Then  she  went  to  the 
wash-room  to  remove  ink  stains  from  her  fingers,  came 
back  and  stood  before  the  looking-glass  trying  on  collars 


340  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

and  ribbons  at  the  neck  of  her  dress.  Nothing  gave  her 
satisfaction.  In  a  resolute  attempt  to  keep  the  wheels  of 
thought  about  her  outburst  and  her  position  from  revolv- 
ing in  her  mind,  she  decided,  as  a  last  resort,  to  take  a 
walk  by  herself. 

On  the  street  outside  the  entrance  of  the  Home  she 
came  upon  Morris  Caplan. 

'"Alb,  Mees  Mendel!"  He  held  out  his  hand  to 
Minnie. 

"Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Caplan?"  she  greeted  him, 
and,  assuming  he  had  come  to  visit  Amelia,  promptly  in- 
formed him  where  his  friend  had  gone.  She  did  not 
observe  his  excited  manner  and  that  his  red  face  had 
taken  on  a  few  more  shades  of  red.  In  her  unsuspicious- 
ness  that  he  had  walked  to  the  street  of  the  Alpha  Home 
in  the  hope  of  a  chance  meeting  with  her,  she  moved  off. 
"Goodnight!" 

He  detained  her.  Where  was  she  off  to?  Nowhere? 
Then,  as  it  was  drizzling,  why  not  both  of  them  return  to 
the  Alpha  Home? 

When  they  sat  facing  each  other  in  the  sitting-room, 
Minnie  felt  as  though  the  heavens  had  opened  and 
dropped  down  a  gift.  She  had  been  so  lonely  and  so  in 
need  of  someone  to  whom  to  pour  out  her  surcharged 
heart. 

His  first  utterance,  however,  dispelled  the  charm.  He 
seemed  to  chew  his  words  and  spit  them  out.  How  had 
he  learned  so  well  to  pronounce  just  exactly  wrong? 
Not  even  Minnie's  Rivington  Street  "scholners"  had 
spoken  so  badly.  Or  was  it  because  her  ears  had  then 
been  less  attuned  to  proper  sounds,  she  wondered.  She 
must  have  grown  terribly  "particular"  in  a  short  time, 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  341 

and  she  warned  herself  against  acquiring  extravagant 
tastes. 

What  had  "see"  done  during  the  week?  Had  "see" 
been  happy?  Every  day  but  to-day?  What  then  had 
happened  to-day?  Morris  Caplan's  eyes  rested  upon 
Minnie  with  a  sort  of  elderly-paternal  kindness,  which 
went  to  her  heart  and  made  her  feel  like  a  little  child. 

She  had  had  trouble  that  day  at  the  Charities,  she  told 
him.  He  asked  for  details,  and  she,  less  anxious  to  re- 
sist than  to  confide,  gave  him  an  account  of  her  cham- 
pionship of  Chayim  Schlopoborsky,  without,  however, 
mentioning  her  prior  acquaintance  with  the  cobbler. 

As  Morris  Caplan  listened,  while  leisurely  surveying 
her  well-fitting,  becoming  black  skirt  and  dainty  blouse 
and  taking  in  the  charm  of  her  eyes,  which  suggested  a 
gray  sky,  and  the  refinement  of  her  enunciation,  he  felt 
his  heart  warm  toward  her.  It  brought  back  his  own 
enthusiastic  youth  when,  precisely  as  she,  he  had  grown 
heated  over  the  right  and  the  wrong  of  things.  Now  he 
was  more  mature,  more  sedate,  more  settled  down,  so  to 
speak,  into  the  world's  ways,  but  his  spirit  responded 
with  sad  envy  and  appreciation.  Her  young  mind  seemed 
to  spread  its  wings  and  be  soaring.  This  girl,  he  felt, 
had  the  attractiveness  of  simplicity  and  innocence  of  her 
own  attractiveness.  His  demeanor  changed  from  the 
condescending  paternal  to  that  of  the  friendly  listener 
and  adviser. 

He  was  sure  she  would  not  lose  her  position,  but  if  she 
were  to,  he  could  use  a  smart  girl  like  her  in  his  own  office. 
She  had  been  quite  right  to  take  issue  with  the  substitute  ; 
no  human  being  had  the  right  to  abuse  another.  Indeed, 
he  was  glad  to  have  learned  of  the  injustice;  he  would 


342  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

withdraw  his  own  annual  contribution  to  the  Peoples 
Charities. 

The  last  was  said  with  the  distinct  object  of  making 
an  impression  upon  Minnie,  who,  however,  did  not  re- 
spond by  so  much  as  the  quiver  of  an  eyelash ;  which  only 
increased  Morris  Caplan's  respect  for  Minnie  Mendel. 
Here  was  a  twentieth-century  American  girl  who  had  no 
scent  for  money.  In  his  experience  American  girls  con- 
descended to  be  in  his  company  in  the  expectation  of 
theater  treats,  taxi  rides,  and  boxes  of  candy,  looking 
upon  him,  to  his  keen  consciousness  and  hurt,  as  a  "kike," 
because  of  his  accent,  disregardful  of  his  real  quali- 
ties of  heart  and  soul.  This  little  American  girl  was  the 
first  one  with  whom,  in  the  longest  while,  he  had  had  a 
sensible  talk. 

The  dismissal  gong  rang  far  too  soon  for  Morris  Cap- 
Ian.  On  rising  he  ventured  the  hope  that  she  would  let 
him  visit  her  again.  Minnie  also  was  sorry  the  evening 
had  come  to  an  end.  It  was  flattering  that  a  man  so  much 
older  than  she  listened  to  her  so  interestedly.  On  the 
way  to  her  room  she  quivered  with  a  feeling  akin  to  a 
child's  excitement  in  a  new  toy. 

XXVII 

The  tale  of  Minnie's  "jumping  on"  the  substitute  was 
spread  by  that  young  person  in  various  forms  of  exag- 
geration among  the  others  of  her  clan,  whose  dander 
went  up  sympathetically  at  "the  audacity  of  her,"  "the 
cheek  of  her,"  "the  nerve  of  her."  She  had  better  look 
out  and  not  try  any  such  tricks  on  them.  However,  no 
charges  were  brought,  and  for  many  weeks  things  went 
along  in  their  uninterrupted  drab  way. 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  343 

The  perplexing  problem  of  poverty  never  left  Minnie's 
mind.  How  could  a  world  of  presumably  good  people 
tolerate  such  wretchedness  in  their  midst?  Why  did  not 
those  with  a  surplus  hand  it  over  promiscuously  to  those 
with  nothing?  And  if  Jhe  surplus  was  not  handed  over, 
then  why  did  not  those  deprived  of  the  means  of  living 
rebel?  Why,  instead  of  rebelling,  did  they  come  daily 
and  beg  for  alms?  It  seemed  so  perfectly  simple  and 
easy  to  Minnie  for  the  poor  to  get  together  and  resolve 
to  abolish  their  poverty. 

Amelia  Rubin,  with  whom  she  discussed  these  things, 
agreed  with  her,  but  her  agreement  was  tainted  by  a  bit- 
ter cynicism  with  which  Minnie  was  not  yet  ripe  enough 
to  cope.  For  refuge  she  fled  to  fun-making. 

When  Amelia  was  sure  that  God  was  "invented"  to 
keep  folks  in  the  dark  so  that  all  sorts  of  vile  "tricks" 
could  be  perpetrated  upon  them  while  kept  by  their  be- 
lief in  jelly-fish  submission  and  subordination,  Minnie 
was  sure  that  there  was  a  God,  but. since  there  was  man- 
kind, too,  and  in  the  majority  at  that,  men  ruled  things 
in  their  own  way  and  had  made  such  a  mess  of  it  that  He 
had  retired  in  confusion,  so  that  while  some  simple  peo- 
ple still  continued  to  pray  to  Him  and  to  worship  Him, 
He  was  really  every  moment  eloquently  proclaiming 
through  our  very  human  miseries  that  His  power  had 
been  deposed.  But  if  Amelia,  in  the  way  of  young  cynics, 
was  so  touched  by  a  lovely  sky,  by  a  sunset,  by  the  chirp- 
ing of  a  sparrow  that  she  sighed  and  soliloquized  that 
maybe,  after  all,  there  was  a  God,  Minnie  would  look  up 
to  heaven  and  exclaim:  "God  in  heaven,  save  this  girl 
from  such  foolishness!"  or  "You  are  as  fickle  as  God's 
image  has  a  right  to  be,  so  I'm  not  blaming  you." 

Minnie  took  the  same  refuge  from  Morris  Caplan's 


344          SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

atrocious  language.  After  he  had  called  four  or  five 
times  again  and  she  had,  upon  Amelia's  urgent  invitation, 
always  joined  them,  she  refused  the  next  time.  Though 
his  one  visit  alone  with  her,  in  the  particularly  dependent 
mood  in  which  she  had  been  that  evening,  had  given  her 
pleasure,  his  subsequent  visits  had  been  boresome.  The 
conversations,  with  Amelia  at  the  helm,  had  seemed  al- 
ways to  pull  the  wrong  way. 

One  evening  he  called  when  Amelia  was  out.  Minnie 
went  down  wondering  who  could  possibly  have  asked  to 
see  Miss  Mendel.  At  sight  of  Morris  Caplan  she  was 
appalled.  But  he  came  forward  smiling  so  broadly  and 
radiating  so  much  cordiality  as  he  said,  "  'Allo,  Mees 
Mendel,"  that  she  felt  her  heart  warm  to  him  with  af- 
fection. Pretty  soon  she  was  saying  with  a  twinkle : 

"Why  do  you  spoil  perfectly  good  silence?  Silence 
grates  much  less  on  the  ear  than  'dets  is/  'enyhull,'  'yeh, 
'partickala.'  If  you  want  to  speak,  why  don't  you  learn 
how?  And  why  do  you  call  me  'mees'?*  What  did  I 
ever  do  to  you  to  be  called  'mees?' 

"Go  on,"  said  Morris  Caplan,  "laugh  yourself  fat!" 
As  if  to  assure  himself  that  she  needed  the  additional 
flesh,  he  took  hold  of  her  arm,  laughing  with  her  as  she 
wriggled  out  of  his  grasp. 

In  two  weeks'  time  Morris  Caplan,  real  estate  dealer, 
whose  business  policy  it  was  never  to  take  "no"  for  an 
answer,  had  wheedled  Miss  Mendel  into  giving  him  les- 
sons in  English. 

XXVIII 

Life  for  over  a  year  proceeded  in  the  same  tenor — 
work,  eat,  sleep,  giving  Morris  Caplan  lessons,  walks 

*  Mees  is  the  Yiddish  for  "ugly." 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  345 

with  him,  walks  with  Amelia — until  one  day  Ida,  acting 
as  Sarah's  emissary,  came  with  Beckie  to  bring  Minnie 
the  news  that  Jacob  was  going  to  graduate  from  college 
and  wanted  her  to  attend  the  exercises. 

Minnie  was  touched.  After  all,  they  did  not  look  on 
her  as  an  outsider ;  she  was  welcome  to  the  family  circle. 
To  keep  back  the  tears  that  would  come  if  she  answered 
directly,  she  cast  about  for  something  else  to  say. 

"Is  Abie  Ratkin  going  to  graduate,  too  ?" 

Ida,  though  she  resentfully  attributed  to  Minnie's  indif- 
ference this  switching  off  from  the  matter  of  family 
interest,  answered  politely  enough: 

"He  graduated  last  year.  He  skipped  a  term.  He's 
teaching  already.  Jacob  got  extra  tickets  and  invited 
Abie,  and  you  can  sit  with  him.  We  all  thought" — here 
she  got  in  her  sting — "you'd  feel  contaminated  if  you 
sat  with  us." 

Minnie  grew  hot. 

"Tell  Jacob,"  she  said,  lowering  her  head  to  hide  the 
twitching  of  her  face,  "I  congratulate  him." 

"Thank  God!"  cried  Ida  in  exaggerated  relief,  as 
though  Minnie  had  accepted  the  invitation  in  so  many 
words.  "Mama  lived  in  mortal  terror  of  your  turning 
up  your  nose."  She  laughed  disagreeably. 

A  week  later,  Minnie,  dressed  in  clothes  all  new  ex- 
cept for  her  shoes  and  gloves  (no  working-girl  is  ever 
clad  in  absolute  harmonious  newness)  with  a  two-dollar- 
and-sixty-five-cent  volume  of  Shakespeare's  complete 
works  under  her  arm,  started  off  for  Carnegie  Hall. 

"My  goodness,"  she  kept  saying  to  herself,  "I've  got  a 
brother  a  college  graduate !"  She  hugged  "college  grad- 
uate" proudly. 


346  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

On  an  empty  cross  street,  which  she  chose  in  order 
to  make  better  speed,  she  was  roused  out  of  herself  by 
a  caterwauling,  which  proceeded  from  a  ragged  little 
urchin  down  whose  muddy  countenance  the  tears  were 
making  pathways.  Minnie  investigated.  The  little  one 
was  lost  and  had  no  idea  of  his  parentage  or  place  of 
habitation.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  take  him  by 
the  hand  and  lead  him,  no,  drag  him — oh,  how  the  child 

crept! — to  the  nearest  station-house. 

****** 

At  half -past  seven  there  were  already  gathered  in  Car- 
negie Hall  the  zealous  relatives  of  graduates,  who  pre- 
ferred to  wait  an  hour  to  being  one  moment  late.  There 
was  subdued  whispering,  handshaking  and  smiles  of 
heaven  itself  on  the  wrinkled  faces  of  old-fashioned 
mothers  and  fathers,  aunts  and  uncles;  and  the  eyes  of 
the  younger  generation  shone  with  peace  on  earth,  good 
will  to  men.  Flitting  figures  of  young  men  garbed  in  the 
graduation  black  were  followed  with  loving  exclamations, 
"That's  my  son !"  "That's  my  brother !"  and  were  scruti- 
nized with  wonderment  and  reverence. 

Presently  there  came  toiling  up  the  stairs  a  silent  group, 
Sarah,  Leopold,  Ida,  Beckie.  Sarah's  heart  was  heavy. 
Jacob,  in  his  relentless  unforgivingness,  had  not  extended 
a  personal  invitation  to  Leopold,  who  had  been  offended 
and  at  the  last  moment  had  refused  to  attend  the  exer- 
cises. 

Sarah's  heart  writhed.  She  had  felt  intuitively  it 
would  be  so.  By  this  time  in  her  life  she  had  reached  the 
conclusion  that  she  was  destined  never  to  experience  un- 
adulterated happiness.  Her  boy  was  to  be  graduated 
from  college!  An  achievement  for  poor  people.  An 
honor,  a  glory,  to  witness  a  son  proclaimed  a  gentleman 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  347 

learned  in  the  ways  of  great  things.  The  occasion,  which 
ought  to  be  one  of  pure  joy,  must  be  marred  for  her; 
she  had  felt  it ;  she  had  known  that  Jacob's  failure  to  in- 
vite his  stepfather  personally  would  mean  Leopold's  re- 
fusal to  attend.  That  he  had  refrained  from  protesting 
until  the  last  moment  had  only  meant  a  period  of  miser- 
able anticipation.  Sarah  was  hurt,  angered.  Neverthe- 
less, subduing  her  voice,  she  reasoned  pleasantly  with  her 
husband  that  Jacob  was  self-conscious  about  things  like 
reconciliations,  and  it  was  a  little  omission  which  Leo- 
pold ought  not  to  mind.  "Jacob,"  she  concluded,  "did  not 
even  send  an  invitation  to  Minnie.  I  myself  sent  the  in- 
vitation by  Ida  and  Beckie." 

But  Leopold  was  not  to  be  argued  out  of  his  grievance ; 
Jacob  could  graduate  without  his  presence  just  as  well, 
he  said.  Further  persuasion  only  increased  the  tension. 
Sarah's  heightened  color,  the  stubborn  quiet  of  the  two 
girls,  Leopold's  subdued  but  impassioned  voice,  charged 
the  atmosphere  as  with  an  explosive. 

When  it  was  high  time  to  leave,  Sarah  began  to  cry 
and  to  lament  her  never-ending  hard  lot.  Bad  enough 
that  her  children  were  parted  and  scattered  and  her  heart 
was  always  torn  in  a  thousand  pieces — Leopold  had  not 
the  right  on  this  special  occasion  of  a  lifetime  to  make  her 
miserable  and  let  her  feel  how  divided  her  life  was ; 
for  without  Leopold  she  was  not  willing  to  go  to  the  exer- 
cises, and  to  absent  herself  from  her  boy's  graduation 
would  break  her  heart. 

Leopold  gave  evidence  of  relenting  by  taking  off  his 
everyday  necktie  and  rummaging  in  his  bureau  drawer 
for  a  Sunday  one.  In  silence,  then,  Sarah  and  the  girls 
made  ready ;  in  silence  all  four  traveled  to  the  graduation 
hall,  and  in  silence  climbed  the  stairs  to  the  gallery,  each 


348  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

with  mingled  emotions  of  the  gladness  of  the  occasion 
and  the  sadness  of  their  unnatural  family  life. 

As  soon  a.9  they  were  seated,  Sarah  asked  Ida  to  point 
out  Minnie's  seat.  The  eyes  of  the  other  three  followed 
Ida's  index  finger.  The  seat  was  empty.  When  the  hall 
began  to  fill  up  and  from  the  stirring  on  the  platform  it 
seemed  that  the  exercises  would  soon  begin,  Sarah 
glanced  anxiously  toward  Minnie's  seat  and  then  toward 
the  entrance.  Would  it  be  Minnie  that  was  going  to 
absent  herself?  How  heartaches  never  ended  for  her! 
Leopold  discerned  Sarah's  misery  and  genuinely  re- 
gretted the  distress  he  himself  had  caused  her. 

A  young  man  was  about  to  enter  the  row  of  Minnie's 
seat.  Abie  Ratkin?  They  all  peered.  Yes,  it  was  Abie 
Ratkin.  Ida,  catching  his  eye,  beckoned  to  him.  At  the 
same  moment  Jacob  appeared,  hot,  hurried,  excited. 

"God  mine !"  Sarah  exclaimed  inwardly,  "will  he  greet 
his  uncle?" 

Jacob,  whose  heart  must  have  been  reached  by  his 
mother's  unspoken  cry,  turned  to  Leopold  and  clumsily 
shook  hands  with  him.  Leopold,  touched,  congratulated 
him.  Sarah,  out  of  gratitude,  rose  slightly  from  her  seat, 
Jacob  bent  down,  and  they  kissed.  Then  the  girl  also 
kissed  their  brother,  and  Abraham  Ratkin  congratulated 
him. 

Jacob,  embarrassed  and  eager  to  hide  his  embarrass- 
ment, said  he  had  stolen  away  to  see  them  only  for  a 
minute,  and  left.  Ida  called  after  him  that  they  would 
all  meet  on  the  street  after  the  exercises. 

Abraham  lingered  to  ask  for  Minnie.  Beckie,  with  a 
knowing,  teasing  twinkle,  told  him  Minnie  was  coming 
and  was  even  going  to  sit  beside  him ;  embarrassed,  he 
made  a  mocking  bow  in  appreciation  of  the  courtesy. 
Sarah,  whose  eyes  were  misted  over  with  anxiety  about 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  349 

Minnie,  acknowledged  the  fun  with  a  melancholy  smile, 
and  as  soon  as  Abraham  left  for  his  seat,  sent  another 
furtive  glance  toward  the  entrance.  Would  Minnie 
come? 

"Makes  me  sick,"  Ida  muttered,  "always  spoils  every- 
thing." 

A  voice  called  for  order,  everybody  was  seated,  and  a 
solemn  hush  fell  upon  the  place.  The  graduates  began 
to  assemble  on  the  platform ;  there  was  music,  coughing, 
scattering  sneezes  and  general  adjustment.  Then  one 
could  have  heard  a  pin  drop. 

Sarah  looked  anxiously  at  Minnie's  still  vacant  seat. 

A  gray-haired  gentleman  in  a  brief  preliminary  speech 
introduced  another  elderly  gentleman,  who  rose  lum- 
beringly  and  crossed  to  the  front  of  the  platform  with 
dignified  professorial  mien.  In  a  deep,  solemn  voice  he 
laid  before  the  audience  the  history  of  the  nation's  policy 
of  wonderful  democracy,  which  gave  to  one  and  all  equal 
opportunity  to  reach  the  heights  of  education,  the  heights 
of  attainment  in  every  field,  the  heights  of  glory.  He 
repeated  points  he  wished  especially  to  impress,  and  sol- 
emnly, adjuringly,  pleaded  for  due  appreciation  of  the 
benefits  conferred  by  the  College  of  the  City  of  New 
York. 

The  speech  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  parents  who, 
listening,  understood  not  a  word,  since  the  language  was 
not  their  language.  But  what  else  could  the  man  be  say- 
ing than  that  the  particular  boy  of  the  particular  parent 
be  ever  grateful,  ever  appreciative  of  the  sacrifices  en- 
tailed in  sending  him  through  college?  Who  but  a  par- 
ent would  have  made  such  sacrifices?  Who  but  a  parent 
would  have  slaved  and  stinted  himself  so  all  the  years? 
A  parent's  love  was  holy ;  a  parent's  life  hard. 


350  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

A  pause  and  a  storm  of  applause. 

Sarah's  misted  eyes  again  traveled  to  the  door.  At 
that  moment  Minnie,  hot  and  flurried,  entered.  As  by 
Fate  decreed,  she  met  her  mother's  gaze  in  all  that  throng 
of  people. 

Sarah's  heart  gave  a  great  leap,  and  the  color  left  her 
face  and  lips,  while  Minnie  grew  dizzy  and  felt  herself 
turn  pale. 

Ida,  who  succeeded  in  drawing  Minnie's  eyes  to  her, 
shrugged  her  shoulders  and  pursed  her  lips  as  if  to  ask 
what  good  excuse  Minnie  could  give  for  being  late  on 
such  an  occasion.  Minnie  understood  and  hurriedly 
sought  her  seat.  The  momentary  unhappiness  tugging 
at  her  heart  gave  way  to  pleasure  at  meeting  Abie,  who 
smiled  self-consciously,  quite  overcome  by  the  great 
change  in  her.  "A  regular  lady"  was  his  summing  up. 

The  stage  proceedings  had  no  meaning  to  Sarah  now. 
Her  eyes  devoured  her  prodigal  daughter,  and  her  ears 
could  listen  only  to  the  words  of  her  own  soul,  "How 
she  has  grown !  Only  yesterday  she  was  a  teething  baby. 
She  looks  just  as  I  used  to  look  when  I  was  a  young  girl 
— the  same  gray  eyes — the  same  features.  If  only  she 
will  not  have  my  black  luck !" 

Hand-clapping  woke  her  as  from  out  of  a  dream. 

During  a  short  intermission,  occasioned  by  some  hitch 
in  the  proceedings,  Beckie  left  her  seat  to  ask  Minnie 
what  had  made  her  late.  Minnie  explained.  W ell,  at 
such  a  time  to  bother  to  take  a  strange  child  to  a  station- 
house!  Even  Beckie  could  not  condone  Minnie's  be- 
havior. Did  Abraham  think  Minnie  had  done  right? 
Abraham  evaded  Beckie's  pretty  eyes.  This  display  in 
Minnie  of  altruism  rather  appealed  to  him,  though  under 
the  circumstances  he  could  not  quite  approve  of  it,  and 
it  occurred  to  him  that  the  Mendels  had  forever  a  bone 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  351 

of  contention,  if  not  over  a  big  thing  then  over  a  trifle. 
He  said  nothing.  Minnie  felt  guilty. 

The  next  number  began. 

Minnie's  eyes  followed  Beckie's  departing  figure  and, 
traveling  a  bit  too  far,  again  encountered  her  mother's. 
Sarah  was  gray  at  the  temples,  her  lips  were  parched,  she 
looked  tired,  haggard,  harassed.  A  pang  of  regret  from 
a  feeling  that  she  was  partly  to  blame  smote  Minnie's 
heart.  She  moved  in  her  seat  to  dispel  the  feeling  and 
urged  upon  herself  that  this  was  a  happy  occasion  when 
she  ought  not  to  let  anything  disturb  her. 

A  small,  narrow-shouldered  young  man,  his  face  flush- 
ing painfully,  his  whole  manner  showing  he  was  horribly 
nervous,  stepped  forward  on  the  stage,  cleared  his  throat 
in  an  effort  to  bring  notes  of  manliness  into  a  naturally 
piping  voice,  and  proclaimed  to  the  accompaniment  of  see- 
saw gestures  that : 

"Our  duty  to  the  city  and  the  college  is  clear.  For 
years  my  fellow-classmates  and  I  have  received  the  con- 
tinuous care  of  our  alma  mater.  And  now  we  are 
alumni.  All  that  these  halls  of  learning  can  give  us  we 
have  received.  All  the  attention  of  our  patient  instruc- 
tors has  been  lavished  upon  us.  The  wisdom  of  the  past 
and  present  has  been  absorbed  by  us.  As  loyal  grad- 
uates of  the  college  we  will  always  think  with  pride  and 
tenderness  of  our  years  spent  at  the  college  and  our  ob- 
ligation to  our  friends  at  the  college." 

Minnie's  mind  wandered.  The  whole  of  the  past  had 
so  long  been  sunk  below  her  horizon  that  she  had  almost 
outlived  it  and  hardly  ever  recalled  that  she  had  a  mother, 
and  a  home  if  she  chose  to  go  to  it.  Nor  did  Abie  Rat- 
kin  enter  her  thoughts  often  enough  for  her  to  feel  he 
was  a  part  of  her  past.  And  here  he  was — here  was  her 
mother !  The  past  was  a  part  of  one.  It  was  like  turning 


352  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

round  and  suddenly  confronting  your  own  shadow. 
Even  the  Helina  Heimath  was  out  of  her  mind  already. 
For  all  the  plans  she  had  made,  when  she  was  an  inmate, 
to  visit  the  place  after  she  had  left,  she  had  never  gone 
there  again.  She  seemed  to  have  stepped  into  another 
world.  Would  something  come  up  to  remind  her  that 
that  charity,  that  pauperism,  was  part  of  her,  too?  A 
shudder  went  through  her.  .  .  .  She  glanced  sidewise  at 
Abraham.  He  was  still  short,  shorter  than  she — his  head 
was  a  triflle  lower  than  hers.  His  nose  was  still  curved, 
his  hair  scanty,  his  eyes  small,  like  the  eyes  of  a  Japanese, 
and  he  still  wore  glasses  and  still  looked  intellectual,  as 
if  he  spent  long  hours  over  books ;  and  his  face  still  wore 
a  benevolent  expression — the  ideal  schoolmaster's  face. 
Though  Minnie  was  quite  sure  that  he  was  very  learned, 
she  wondered  for  some  reason  whether  life  itself  reached 
him  as  poignantly  as  it  did  her  and  whether  he  under- 
stood it.  Could  he,  for  instance,  understand  what  was 
making  her  heart  ache  now,  when  she  saw  her  mother 
grayed  and  felt  she  herself  had  deliberately  contributed  to 
the  grayness  and  would  continue  to  do  so?  Could  he 
understand  her  unhappiness  because  there  was  poverty 
in  the  world,  her  resentment  because  nothing  but  the  mere 
physical  opportunity  differentiated  the  "ladies"  who  vis- 
ited the  Helina  Heimath  from  the  patients  they  patron- 
ized? No,  she  did  not  think  he  could  understand  all  that. 
He  seemed  to  have  a  heart  of  peace  and  an  understand- 
ing to  match. 

Applause  again.    Minnie  was  roused.    She  sighed. 

"Why  that  sigh?" 

"Oh,  I'm  just  thinking." 

Abraham  smiled  an  embarrassed  smile  and  moved  self- 
consciously in  his  seat.  He  cleared  his  throat. 

"Thinking?    Do  you  do  that?" 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  353 

She  slewed  her  eyes  round  at  him,  and  his  breath  was 
cut  short.  If  her  eyes  had  been  beautiful  the  last  time 
he  had  seen  her  the  Saturday  afternoon  when  she  was 
alone  and  had  plied  him  with  ten  thousand  questions  they 
were  more  than  beautiful  now.  They  were  like  two  gray 
clouds  of  endless  depth,  with  tales  and  tales  to  tell.  He 
looked  away. 

"Yes,  I  do  think.    Why,  does  it  surprise  you?" 

She  seemed  displeased.  With  a  fluttering  droop  of  eye- 
lids and  a  paternal  kindliness  in  voice  and  manner,  he 
said  he  was  only  joking;  of  course  she  thought;  anyone 
could  see  she  did;  in  fact,  she  seemed  to  be  quite  a 
thinker ;  some  day  soon  she  would  have  to  tell  him  every- 
thing she  thought  about. 

She  felt  reduced  to  a  mite  of  a  girl  and  was  silenced, 
hesitating  between  even  greater  displeasure  and  the  satis- 
faction that  seems  to  be  woman's  more  normal  reaction 
to  such  treatment  at  the  hands  and  tongue  of  man. 

There  were  a  few  other  numbers,  then  came  Jacob, 
valedictorian.  The  hearts  of  all  his  family  pounded  with 
pride  and  excitement  as  he  moved  to  the  front  of  the  plat- 
form. Minnie  threw  a  cutting  glance  at  a  man  behind 
her  who  coughed  irritatingly.  Jacob  cleared  his  throat. 
The  family  leaned  forward  in  their  seats  and  strained 
every  nerve  to  listen.  In  a  deep  voice,  with  attendant 
dignity,  he  began : 

"We  have  traced  the  course  of  history  and  evolution 
through  the  long  rolling  centuries,  which  have  each  made 
their  special  contribution  toward  carrying  the  world  from 
primeval  barbarism  to  the  present  era  of  culture  and  civi- 
lization. We  have  examined  the  attitude  of  rich  and 
poor  alike,  of  the  plutocrat,  who  regards  the  whole  world 
as  an  attractive  prey,  and  of  the  humble  laborer,  who 
adds  to  the  world's  assets. 


354  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"And  can  we  hesitate  as  to  what  cause  to  champion, 
whose  battle  to  fight?  Never.  We  should  be  craven  in 
our  highest  duties  to  mankind  if  we  did  not  stand  for  the 
future  against  the  past,  for  the  toiler  against  the  para- 
site." 

That  was  all  Minnie  heard.  Her  heart  pounded  and 
deafened  her.  He  had  said  something  about  siding  with 
the  poor  as  against  the  rich,  something  about  a  past  of 
the  one  and  a  future  of  the  other.  It  was  not  clear  to 
her,  but  she  felt  a  kinship  with  him.  "Jacob,  too !  Jacob, 
too !"  she  kept  saying  to  herself  happily,  the  blood  run- 
ning warm  through  her  veins.  Oh,  if  only  she  could 
speak  to  him ! 

Another  outburst  of  applause. 

Sarah  wept. 

Leopold  was  pale.  His  skin  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
shrivelled;  a  subtle  sense  of  guilt  had  stolen  upon  his 
heart.  Had  he  actually  stood  between  this  mother  and 
that  son — blood  of  each  other's  blood,  flesh  of  each  oth- 
er's flesh?  He  was  in  superstitious  fear  of  judgment 
even  though  something  deep  in  his  being  cried  that  he  had 
not  meant  to  usurp  the  place  of  this  mother's  children. 
He  gave  Sarah  a  sad  look.  She  met  it  and  placed  her 
hand  in  his ;  together  they  sighed. 

The  exercises  closed.  Some  of  the  audience  loitered 
for  one  more  look  upon  a  holy  graduate.  Most  of  them 
made  for  the  exits. 

XXIX 

Ida  and  Beckie,  who  had  got  separated  in  the  crowd 
from  Sarah  and  Leopold,  reached  the  street  ahead  of 
them  and  joined  Minnie  and  Abraham.  The  four  waited 
together. 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  355 

Sarah,  slowly  following  the  crowd,  wondered  with  a 
heavy  heart  whether  Minnie  would  seek  a  reconciliation. 
Leopold,  conscious  of  the  mother's  misery,  breathed  a 
silent  prayer  that  Minnie  would  for  once  forget  to  be 
stubborn. 

Minnie  cast  nervous  glances  at  the  crowd  emerging 
from  the  doorway.  She  hoped  fervently  that  Jacob 
would  arrive  before  Sarah  and  Leopold,  so  that  she  could 
give  him  the  volume  of  Shakespeare, -congratulate  him, 
ask  him  to  come  to  see  her,  and  get  away.  Though  she 
did  not  feel  unforgiving,  she  shrank  from  meeting  her 
mother  and  stepfather.  The  separation  had  seemed  so 
definitely  established  in  her  mind  as  a  lasting  one  that 
the  thought  of  a  reconciliation  filled  her  with  shame,  as 
if  it  would  be  maudlin  and  unwholesome. 

Leopold  and  Sarah  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

Minnie  quickly  handed  the  volume  of  Shakespeare  to 
Beckie,  asked  her  to  give  it  to  Jacob  with  her  congratu- 
lations, and  saying  good-by  hurriedly  left. 

Abraham,  looking  from  her  to  Ida  and  Beckie,  quickly 
took  in  the  situation  and  dashed  after  her. 

Sarah  and  Leopold  saw  what  had  taken  place.  With 
bowed  heads  they  crossed  over  to  Ida  and  Beckie,  and 
the  four  stood  a  silent  group  until  Jacob  appeared,  then 
they  walked  away,  dully,  heavily. 

When  they  reached  the  corner  at  which  Jacob  turned 
his  independent  way,  Sarah  kissed  him,  and  until  they 
reached  home  she  held  her  handkerchief  steadily  to  her 
eyes. 

XXX 

Abraham  had  learned  from  Jacob,  with  whom  he  as- 
sociated at  college,  that  Sarah  had  married  again  and  that 


356  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

he  had  left  home,  but  not  that  Minnie  had  left  home, 
too. 

He  and  Minnie  walked  side  by  side  for  some  time 
without  talking.  Minnie  was  under  too  great  stress  to 
speak,  and  Abraham  sensed  it.  Finally  he  ventured  to 
ask  where  she  lived.  She  told  him.  Silence  fell  between 
them  again.  Then  Abraham,  deciding  he  ought  to  divert 
her  mind  from  her  unhappiness,  said: 

"Well,  now,  tell  me  everything  you  think  about.  You 
promised." 

"Do  you  think  I  think  so  little  that  I  can  tell  you  all 
I  think  at  once  ?" 

He  saw  she  was  annoyed,  and  he  was  sorry. 

"No,"  he  said  jokingly,  adopting  a  light  tone  as  the 
best  remedial  measure,  "I  suppose  your  wisdom  is  not  so 
easily  conveyed.  Is  that  a  subtle  invitation  to  me  to  come 
to  see  you?" 

She  smiled,  and  it  crossed  her  mind  that  it  would  be 
nice  to  have  him  visit  her.  She  was  grateful  he  had 
suggested  it.  She  softened,  and  in  her  changed  mood 
repented  her  brutal  avoidance  of  her  mother,  and  was 
caught  by  an  impulse  to  hurry  back.  But  the  months 
when  she  lay  ill  and  neglected  at  the  Helina  Heimath 
rose  to  her  mind.  Raising  her  head  with  a  little  jerk  as 
if  to  shut  out  of  sight  the  bitter  picture  and  with  a  stif- 
fening of  her  whole  frame,  she  started  conversation. 

"Did  you  understand  what  Jacob  said?" 

The  question  touched  the  schoolmaster's  pride.  Abra- 
ham cleared  his  throat  and  straightened  his  shoulders. 

Why,  yes.    Jacob,  like  himself,  was  a  Socialist. 

"What  is  a  Socialist?"  She  had  never  got  a  clear 
idea  of  Socialism  from  Amelia,  and  thought  here  was  her 
chance. 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  357 

Abraham  cleared  his  throat  again. 

"A  Socialist  is  one  who  believes  in  the  social  owner- 
ship of  all  the  means  of  production ;  in  other  words,  the 
ownership  by  the  government  of  all  public  utilities;  the 
mines,  for  example,  the  mills,  the  factories,  the  railroads, 
the  telegraphs,  and  so  on." 

As  Minnie  did  not  understand  the  significance  or  any 
of  the  implications  of  such  ownership,  she  ventured  no 
comment  or  further  questions.  She  felt  disappointed. 
Abraham,  however,  eager  to  instruct,  most  in  his  element 
when  doing  so,  continued: 

"Of  course,  from  social  ownership  of  social  utilities, 
would  result  the  elimination  of  rent,  interest,  and  profit, 
which  would  do  away  with  the  exploitation  of  one  human 
being  by  another." 

Minnie  was  awed  into  respect.  Abraham's  learning  re- 
duced her  to  humility.  A  wave  of  bitterness  rose  within 
her  against  her  mother,  Leopold  Pollack  and  the  whole 
world  that  she  had  not  had  the  opportunity  of  going 
through  high  school  and  college.  She  walked  beside 
Abraham  in  unhappy  silence.  Then  she  recollected  Mor- 
ris Caplan's  and  Amelia  Rubin's  idealization  of  her  as 
a  paragon  of  knowledge,  and  the  weight  on  her  heart 
lightened  somewhat.  Yet  throughout  the  rest  of  the 
evening,  she  was  depressed  by  a  sense  of  inferiority. 

At  the  door  of  the  Alpha  Home,  Abraham  asked 
whether  he  might  come  again.  In  her  surprise  she  hesi- 
tated in  saying  yes. 

"Won't  you  be  glad  to  see  me  ?"  he  questioned,  holding 
her  hand  in  a  goodnight  shake. 

"Yes."     She  lowered  her  eyes. 

He  would  come  the  following  Sunday  then. 

Minnie  ran  into  the  house  and  up  to  her  room  aquiver 


358  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

with  the  excitement  of  the  evening's  experiences.  As 
she  stood  in  front  of  the  looking  glass  combing  her  hair, 
her  mind  was  a  medley;  Her  mother  was  gray  already ! 
She  had  looked  unhappy  and  as  if  she  were  begging  for 
some  sign  of  recognition  from  Minnie.  How  had  she 
had  the  heart  to  run  away?  She  had  not  seen  Jacob  at 
all !  What  an  odd  evening  to  come  in  upon  all  the  recent 
serene  ones.  Life  never  went  smoothly  two  minutes  at 
a  time.  How  she  would  love  to  talk  to  Jacob !  Oh,  but 
if  his  ideas  of  rich  and  poor  had  no  more  meaning  for 
her  than  what  Abie  had  said,  what  good  were  they? 
She  did  not  understand  it  all  anyway — never  would.  .  .  . 
Abie  would  come  again.  That  meant  another  friend 
maybe.  She  wouldn't  be  so  lonely.  Morris  Caplan  and 
Amelia  Rubin,  after  all,  weren't  altogether  her  sort. 
From  them  she  never  learned  anything.  But  then  Abie 
knew  too  much  for  her.  If  he  spoke  above  her  head, 
what  good  was  it?  Oh,  nothing  ever  was  just  right.  .  .  . 
Leopold  looked  older,  troubled.  Did  they  really  care  a 
rap  about  her  ?  Then  why  hadn't  they  run  after  her,  fol- 
lowed her  anyway?  Why  had  mama  never  come  to  see 
her  at  the  Helina  Heimath  ?  She  had  been  sick — so  sick. 
No  real  mother  would  have  done  such  a  thing.  But 
maybe — mama  was  getting  older — maybe  she  would  die ! 
Minnie  shuddered  and  hastily  tumbled  into  bed  to  drown 
all  in  sleep. 

XXXI 

On  Sunday  afternoon  Minnie,  her  hair  arranged  as 
becomingly  as  she  could  get  it,  the  collar  of  her  blue 
serge  dress  spotless,  was  sitting  in  her  small,  neat  room 
waiting  for  the  hall  telephone  of  her  floor  to  ring  to  an- 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  359 

nounce  her  visitor.  Her  mind  would  wander  from  The 
Doll's  House,  and  though  she  told  herself  over  and  over 
that  it  was  foolish  to  be  nervous,  it  was  only  Abie  Rat- 
kin  who  was  coming,  yet  her  heart  pounded  and  her 
cheeks  burned,  and  every  little  while,  though  quite  con- 
vinced that  she  looked  well  and  even  pretty,  she  rose  and 
examined  herself  in  the  looking-glass,  putting  almost  sin- 
gle hairs  in  place.  Would  Abraham  guess  she  was  so 
nervous,  she  wondered.  She  rubbed  her  dank  hands  so 
that  they  should  not  betray  her  when  she  shook  hands 
with  him. 

But  Abraham's  own  hands  were  moist,  from  the  very 
same  cause,  and  he  noticed  nothing.  He,  too,  had  told 
himself  it  was  only  Minnie  Mendel  he  was  going  to  visit 
while  his  heart  pounded  disproportionately  with  the  im- 
portance of  the  occasion.  When  she  moved  toward  him 
gracefully  in  the  waiting-room,  smiling  and  pretty,  he 
found  himself  at  a  loss  what  to  say.  To  gain  time  he 
glanced  over  his  shoulder,  pretending  he  had  heard  the 
sound  of  something  drop. 

Did  she  wish  to  stay  in  or  take  a  walk?  She  thought 
they  might  stay  in  a  while  and  then  take  a  walk.  They 
seated  themselves.  Each  seemed  to  go  through  a  mo- 
ment of  adjustment,  as  if  their  souls  were  smoothing  out 
wrinkles.  Minnie,  to  whom  his  embarrassment  was  ob- 
vious, wondered,  provoked  with  herself,  whether  she,  too, 
was  revealing  her  nervousness.  She  simply  must  not. 
So  she  took  herself  in  hand  and  coolly  began  to  talk. 

How  was  his  mother?  His  sisters?  Had  they  grad- 
uated? Yes?  A  pang  of  jealousy  smote  her,  and  she 
looked  away  not  to  betray  herself,  suppressed  a  little 
sigh,  and  went  on.  Had  he  got  home  all  right  the  night 
of  Jacob's  graduation? 


360  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Abraham  several  times  changed  his  position  on  his 
chair  and  cleared  his  throat,  bringing  his  hand  up  awk- 
wardly to  his  mouth.  He  wished  they  were  out  walk- 
ing. The  night  of  the  graduation  exercises,  when  they 
had  come  home  together,  he  had  not  been  so  deucedly 
self-conscious.  He  felt  it  was  absurd  to  allow  merely 
Minnie  Mendel  to  unbalance  him  so ;  even  the  professors 
at  college  had  never  had  the  power  to  unnerve  him.  Fi- 
nally he  brought  out  the  suggestion  that  they  go  out 
walking.  Minnie  acquiesced  readily,  jumped  up  to  go 
and  get  her  hat,  and  turned  toward  the  door. 

There  stood  Morris  Caplan,  ruddy-cheeked,  smiling 
broadly,  his  heavy  gold  watch  chain  dangling.  The  sight 
of  him  was  welcome  to  Minnie,  who  hailed  him  genially, 
as  one  does  an  old  acquaintance,  and  promptly  fell  into  a 
vivacious  tone.  She  introduced  him  as  her  protege,  who 
was  much  nicer,  she  said,  than  his  language  would  lead 
one  to  suspect.  While  she  was  never  sure  that  her  own 
philosophy  was  right,  she  was  always  sure  that  his  was 
wrong,  and  though  he  was  good  enough  to  associate  with 
her,  a  mere  Alpha  Home  working-girl,  he  was  already  a 
remarkably  successful  real  estate  dealer  with  the  ambi- 
tion to  house  the  vast  majority  of  the  population  of  the 
United  States  as  soon  as  ever  he  graduated  from  her 
college. 

Abraham,  who  had  not  suspected  that  Minnie  could, 
as  he  put  it  to  himself,  "bubble"  like  that,  was  greatly 
drawn  to  her.  His  own  self -consciousness  departed,  and 
a  mountain  of  preliminaries  was  removed  to  a  free  ap- 
proach to  the  little  Minnie  of  Henry  Street.  He  gave  her 
a  broad  smile,  while  a  soft  feeling  like  the  light  of  dawn 
crept  into  his  heart.  He  remembered  "Fights,"  the 
"rock,"  the  bundle  of  refuse,  the  Essex  Market  Court.  .  .  . 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  361 

He  was  startled  out  of  his  revery  by  hearing  Minnie 
say: 

"Mr.  Ratkin  and  I  are  going  out  for  a  walk.  Won't 
you  and  Amelia  join  us,  Mr.  Caplan?"  Abraham,  to  his 
own  surprise,  felt  resentful.  On  the  street  they  soon 
paired  off,  and  he  had  the  chance  to  ask : 

"Who  are  these  people?"  He  had  exchanged  enough 
words  with  Amelia  to  pigeonhole  her  "a  foreign-born 
shop-girl."  No  friends  for  Minnie,  he  thought. 

"Amelia  lives  in  the  Home,  and  she's  the  only  sensible 
girl  I've  met  yet  beside  Ella  Liebman,  and  Miss  Liebman 
is  busy  with  her  own  friends." 

It  flashed  through  Abraham's  mind  that  his  sisters 
would  supply  a  need  of  Minnie's. 

"Do  you  spend  Sundays  with  them?  I  mean,  are  they 
your  friends?" 

"They  are." 

Abraham  was  at  a  loss  as  to  what  to  make  of  such 
incongruous  rnatchings.  His  sisters  were  high-school 
girls  and  had  high-school  friends;  he  himself  was  a  col- 
lege man  with  college  friends.  An  American  girl,  intelli- 
gent, quick-witted,  to  have  a  "kike"  and  a  shop-girl  as 
friends!  It  was  out  of  the  regular.  He  hoped  Minnie 
did  not  have  an  addiction  for  the  irregular,  the  odd — a 
particularly  objectionable  trait  in  a  girl ;  some  of  his  col- 
lege mates  had  said  so.  She  wasn't  like  his  sisters,  that 
was  certain.  There  was  an  airiness  about  her,  a  sort  of 
effervescence,  a  kind  of  fanciness.  Perhaps  it  was  an 
instability.  He  thought  of  her  lateness  at  Jacob's  grad- 
uation, which,  for  the  reason  she  had  given,  he  had  at 
the  time  condoned;  but  perhaps  such  unusual  behavior 
was  characteristic  of  her.  He  was  concerned  and  felt 
impelled  to  influence  her  to  sobriety.  Through  a  linking 


362  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

of  ideas  he  now  conjectured  as  to  the  reasons  that  had 
made  her  leave  home.  If  the  other  two  girls  had  stayed 
at  home,  the  stepfather  could  not  be  an  altogether  impos- 
sible person.  And  how  she  had  darted  away  on  seeing 
her  mother.  How  unnatural.  Abraham  made  up  his 
mind  to  draw  Minnie  out. 

But  Minnie,  of  her  own  accord,  went  on  talking  about 
Mr.  Caplan  and  Amelia.  While  she  liked  them,  she  said, 
they  did  not  think  as  she  did.  In  a  way  they  did,  in  a 
way  they  didn't.  Did  Abraham  understand? 

Abraham  did  understand,  and  it  was  just  what  he  had 
thought.  He  was  glad  she  felt  that  way  and  was  now 
convinced  that  he  had  been  correct  in  supposing  that  she 
and  his  sisters  ought  to  be  friends.  Promptly  he  formu- 
lated a  program  in  his  mind:  he  would  take  Minnie  to 
visit  them,  would  come  to  see  her  often,  would  help  her 
choose  the  right  books  to  read — guide  her — lead  her — 
form  her.  His  schoolmaster's  soul  was  seeking  exercise. 

XXXII 

When  he  had  so  efficiently  planned  a  regimen  for  Min- 
nie, it  provoked  Abraham  that  even  after  his  regular 
Sunday  visits  had  continued  for  months  she  still  retained 
her  foreign-born  friends.  He  could  not,  of  course,  tell 
her  in  so  many  words  that  she  should  drop  them,  but  he 
felt  it  ought  to  have  occurred  to  her  naturally  as  the  re- 
sult of  his  guiding,  and  he  pondered  what  method  to 
pursue  to  make  her  see  the  right  light.  One  Sunday 
afternoon  when  they  were  out  walking  together,  he  said : 

"Don't  you  think  if  you  did  not  spend  so  much  time 
teaching  Mr.  Caplan  you  would  have  more  time  to 
read?" 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  363 

Abraham  had  mapped  out  a  course  of  reading,  which 
included  Gronlond's  Cooperative  Commonwealth,  to  clear 
up  Minnie's  muddled  sentimental  notions  about  social 
wrongs,  Emerson's  essays  for  her  general  good,  and  Mar- 
tin's Human  Body  to  teach  her  hygiene,  as  her  frequent 
paleness  and  tiredness  made  it  obvious  that  she  needed  to 
know  something  about  the  care  of  the  body.  It  was  hard 
for  her  to  plunge  into  this  bony  intellectuality  from  the 
live,  pulsating  world  of  Bernard  Shaw,  Ibsen,  Tolstoi. 
So,  half  shyly,  half  complainingly,  she  had  told  him  two 
or  three  times  that  the  stuff  was  too  dry,  too  hard.  He 
objected,  in  the  first  place,  to  the  terminology  "stuff," 
and  it  irritated  him,  besides,  that  she  lacked  docility.  No 
one  asks  a  child  whether  it  does  or  does  not  want  castor 
oil.  The  dose  is  simply  administered,  with  a  firm,  even 
if  tender  hand.  With  the  characteristic  fluttering  droop 
of  his  lids,  he  turned  his  head  away  in  impatience,  then 
with  gentle  firmness  administered  the  necessary  "Oh, 
now,  come,  come,  settle  down  to  it,"  which  disarmed 
her  as  to  speech  but  not  as  to  her  intentions,  since  she 
was  quite  convinced  that  the  "stuff"  he  wanted  her  to 
read  had  no  power  to  illuminate  her  feelings.  Abraham 
failed  to  take  into  consideration  that  with  some  people 
reason  follows  feeling  as  an  offspring,  and  each  has  to 
go  through  its  regular  process  of  development  else  both 
thought  and  feeling  remain  forever  aborted. 

"I  have  enough  time,"  she  replied,  lowering  her  eyes, 
somewhat  ashamed  that  she  could  not  muster  the  inclina- 
tion for  the  intellectuality  to  which  Abraham  aspired  for 
her,  "but  really,  Abraham,  I  don't  find  it  interesting.  It's 
so  dry."  She  gave  a  deprecatory  smile  and  a  questioning 
lift  of  her  brows.  "Maybe  I'm  stupid,"  she  added  as  if 
by  the  admission  to  gain  exemption  and  absolution. 


364  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Her  girlish  manner  attracted  him,  but  her  noncom- 
pliance  was  disappointing  and  displeasing.  He  was  silent 
from  impotence,  wishing  he  could  seat  her  beside  him  at 
a  table  and  lead  her  step  by  step  along  the  printed  pages 
of  the  books  he  had  recommended  through  rational  proc- 
esses of  thinking  to  absolute  knowledge.  Finally  he 
said: 

"I  suppose  you  think  you  know  enough ;  that  if,  for  ex- 
ample, you  get  angry  at  poverty,  you've  found  a  solution, 
and  if  you  are  puzzled  as  to  the  existence  of  a  God  you 
have  the  whole  of  philosophy  at  your  fingers'  tips,  and 
if  you  take  a  physic  you  know  how  to  keep  well." 

The  false  charge  hurt.  Minnie  flushed  and  replied  with 
spirit : 

"I  don't  see  how  anybody  can  be  surer  that  there  is  or 
there  is  not  a  God  than  I.  He  has  not  revealed  Himself 
to  others  any  more  than  He  has  to  me.  And  I  think 
poverty  exists  because  people  are  selfish  and  grab.  I 
imagine  when  people  develop  morally,  then  the  problem 
will  solve  itself." 

"You  seem  to  be  wiser  than  Plato  and  Aristotle  and 
Socrates  and  Karl  Marx  all  rolled  into  one."  Abraham 
smiled. 

They  happened  just  then  to  be  making  a  street-cross- 
ing, and  a  wagon  dashing  from  around  a  corner  at  great 
speed  bore  right  down  on  Minnie.  She  was  in  imminent 
danger.  For  a  single  instant  Abraham  stood  petrified, 
then  grabbed  her  arm  and  pulled  her  back  on  the  pave- 
ment, and  stood  pale  and  panting  for  breath.  Minnie 
laughed  at  the  comical  picture  he  presented. 

In  that  single  moment  of  her  danger  there  swept  upon 
Abraham  with  almost  hurricane  force  the  knowledge  of 
the  extent  to  which  he  depended  upon  Minnie  for  his  in- 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  365 

terest  in  life.  But  she  seemed  so  unreasonably  indifferent 
as  to  whether  or  not  she  were  run  over  that  he  could  have 
shaken  her. 

Perhaps  it  was  just  because  she  made  it  difficult  for 
him  to  feel  secure  in  his  ruling  power  that  she  seemed 
so  necessary  to  him.  Prodigal  children  are  said  to  be 
especially  dear  to  their  parents,  and  the  schoolmaster's 
soul  is  essentially  paternal. 

XXXIII 

Abraham's  visit  left  Minnie  worn  out,  and  she  lay  down 
on  her  bed  to  rest  and  think. 

Beside  his  course  of  reading  he  had  prescribed  friend- 
ship with  his  sisters.  "In  the  three  times  that  he's  taken 
me  to  see  them,"  she  told  herself,  "I  have  been  drawn  to 
them  less  each  time.  They're  so  everydaylike,  so  tame! 
I  don't  see  why  he  insists  upon  my  doing  things  I  don't 
want  to  do."  Yet  hand  in  hand  with  her  resentment 
went  equal  displeasure  with  herself  for  not  being  able  to 
respond  to  Abraham's  guidance.  "I  used  to  be  so  lonely 
and  now  he  comes  every  Sunday.  I  ought  to  be  very 
grateful."  Even  at  this  urgence  no  gratitude  sprang  up 
in  her  heart,  and  she  sank  into  dejection,  into  a  feeling  of 
heaviness,  of  being  weighted  down — the  state,  she  now 
realized,  in  which  Abraham  invariably  left  her.  Their 
talks  never  went  smoothly.  If  she  spoke  hotly  about  the 
vast  amount  of  poverty  in  the  world  and  about  the  rich 
thinking  they  made  it  up  to  the  poor  by  doling  out  char- 
ity, he  called  her  a  sentimentalist,  told  her  she  was  rant- 
ing, and  would  do  better  to  read  on  economics  and  social- 
ism and  arrive  at  a  sane,  level-headed  understanding  of 
what  the  social  evils  were  and  what  would  eradicate 
them.  If  she  told  him  Qf  her  differences  with  employees 


366  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

at  the  Charities,  who  were  overbearing  with  applicants, 
he  said  she  was  hot-headed,  as  proved  by  her  to-dos  with 
her  stepfather. 

"I  don't  mean  to  hurt  you,  Minnie,"  he  would  add 
when  she  looked  hurt.  "I  am  telling  you  only  because  I 
am  interested  in  you.  I  wouldn't  take  the  trouble  other- 
wise." 

Lying  on  her  bed  thinking  over  these  incidents  of 
Abraham's  visits,  Minnie  felt  that  actually  Abraham  did 
mean  it  all  for  her  good,  and  she  wished  she  could  work 
up  enthusiasm  for  his  erudite  attitude  toward  life  and 
things. 

She  rose  and  examined  herself  in  the  small,  rectangu- 
lar mirror  screwed  to  the  top  of  the  chiffoniere.  She 
was  pretty,  there  was  no  denying  it.  "My  eyes  are  beau- 
tiful. Everybody  says  so."  She  smiled  to  her  image, 
which,  however,  did  not  have  consolation  to  offer  for 
long.  "Oh,  goodness,  I'm  sick  of  this  monotony.  Every 
day  it's  going  to  work  and  Amelia  Rubin  or  Morris  Cap- 
Ian  or  Abraham  Ratkin.  In  novels  there  are  all  kinds  of 
experiences.  Real  life's  not  like  that  at  all."  She  leaned 
closer  to  the  glass  and  smoothed  her  hair  away  from  her 
forehead.  "I  suppose  if  I  had  a  home  and  didn't  go  out 
working  and  went  about  in  society,  I'd  be  having  lovers 
and  proposals  of  marriage  and  evening  dresses  and  every- 
thing." A  voice  whispered  to  her:  "Be  glad  you're  not 
bedridden  in  the  Helina  Heimath."  She  shuddered  and 
urged  a  pious  mood  upon  herself.  "I've  lots  to  be  grate- 
ful for.  I  can  work  and  I'm  not  getting  charity."  But 
her  heart  remained  filled  with  longing,  with  restlessness, 
and  yearning. 

Dispiritedly  she  went  about  making  ready  for  supper. 
In  the  evening  she  expected  her  sisters,  who  would,  for 
the  first  time,  meet  Morris  Caplan,  who  was  coming,  not 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  367 

for  an  English  lesson,  but  for  a  social  call  upon  her  and 
Amelia. 

Two  hours  later  Ida  was  whispering  disdainfully  in 
Minnie's  ear: 

"Such  a  kike !    Can't  you  find  better  friends  ?" 

Minnie  flushed.  She  felt  ashamed.  Why  did  she 
"keep  friends"  with  Morris  Caplan?  He  was  a  kike. 
That  was  the  way  Abraham  must  feel  about  him,  too. 
But  where  was  one  to  choose  friends?  What  a  nasty 
accent  Morris  Caplan  still  had.  She  would  make  him 
take  lessons  from  someone  else.  She  ought  certainly  to 
appreciate  Abraham  Ratkin,  who  was  a  college  graduate. 
Yet  her  heart  would  not  echo  the  admonition ;  she  could 
feel  no  warmth  for  Abraham  even  with  his  superior  vir- 
tues. She  yearned  for  others — for  a  different  kind  of 
friends,  such  as  she  could  talk  to  without  restraint,  with- 
out the  fear  of  being  found  fault  with,  or  of  not  being 
understood. 

The  rest  of  the  evening  she  was  so  persistently  silent 
that  her  companions  remarked  on  it  and  made  good- 
natured  attempts  to  liven  her  up.  When  Morris  Caplan 
took  leave,  she  refused  to  shake  hands.  It  was  her  first 
experience  of  a  repugnance  at  being  touched.  The  feel- 
ing stayed  with  her  until  her  eyes  closed  in  sleep. 

The  next  morning  she  awoke  with  a  vast  emptiness  in 
her  heart.  She  wished  she  could  hide  her  head  under  the 
covers  and  never  get  up. 

"Don't  grumble,"  she  fought  against  the  feeling  as  she 
dressed,  "you're  better  off  than  you  ever  thought  you'd 
be.  What  if  you'd  have  remained  a  shop-girl?  You 
know  shorthand,  shorthand,  what  the  doctor  friend  of 
your  youth" — she  smiled — "and  every  other  office  mana- 
ger required.  You're  working  in  an  office,  in  an  office! 
Think  of  it  I" 


368  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Throughout  the  day  the  same  restless  dissatisfaction 
continued.  Her  work  seemed  meaningless,  everything 
vapid,  all  about  her  hopeless.  She  felt  like  venting  anger 
on  someone.  The  talking  and  occasional  giggling  at  the 
other  desks  annoyed  her  more  than  usually ;  and  once, 
when  a  particularly  loud  burst  of  laughter  went  up,  she 
had  to  grit  her  teeth.  Her  substitute  of  the  Chayim 
Schlopoborsky  episode  was  showing  a  postal  card  re- 
ceived from  an  applicant.  One  of  the  group  handed  the 
card  to  Minnie. 

"Plez  ladi,"  it  ran,  "kom  kwik  the  boyler  bust  it's  2 
get  dronded  her  and  mi  wif  had  a  babi." 

Before  Minnie  knew  it,  she  was  denouncing  the  girls 
hotly  as  heartless  and  disrespectful  of  the  grief  the  card 
conveyed.  They  were  flunkies,  she  told  them,  who  did 
not  see  that  there  was  no  difference  between  the  persons 
who  applied  for  charity  and  the  persons  who  supported 
the  Charities.  If  anything,  those  who  came  for  charity 
had  been  cheated,  and  those  who  bestowed  charity  had 
been  the  cheaters. 

When  she  ended,  all  out  of  breath  and  exhausted,  she 
realized  she  had  been  foolish.  Some  of  the  girls  looked 
frightened  as  though  they  were  menaced  by  an  insane 
person ;  others  declared  they  had  never  seen  or  heard  or 
met  with  such  audacity,  such  impertinence,  such  impu- 
dence! The  offended  substitute  vowed  she  would  stand 
it  no  longer;  Minnie  had  been  "too  fresh  anyway"  too 
often ;  she  would  bring  charges  against  her. 

XXXIV 

"I'm  blue,  Amelia,  take  a  walk  with  me." 

Minnie  had  knocked  on  Amelia's  door  and,  receiving 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  369 

no  answer,  had  entered  unceremoniously;  and  Amelia, 
who  had  flung  herself,  tired  out,  on  her  bed  for  a  nap, 
was  awakened  with  a  start  by  the  sound  of  Minnie  flop- 
ping into  the  wooden  rocking-chair. 

"Gee,  you  scart  me  to  deat' !" 

"You'll  never  learn  to  say  'death'  until  you've  had  the 
experience,  I  suppose." 

Amelia  laughed  an  unrestrained  laugh. 

"Oh,  come  on,  stop.  Get  your  hat  on,"  said  Minnie  in 
a  tone  of  arinoyance. 

Amelia,  who  had  used  up  her  strength  laughing,  re- 
plied : 

"Honest,  I  kent  go.    I  hev  no  strang  left." 

Minnie,  jumping  up  from  her  seat,  cried  in  more  than 
mock  seriousness : 

"Upon  my  word,  Amelia,  you  and  Morris  Caplan  drive 
me  wild  with  your  lingo.  I  can't  think  of  a  sin  I've  com- 
mitted to  deserve  the  punishment  of  having  to  listen  to 
you." 

Amelia  laughed  again,  but  warned  Minnie  she  was  not 
to  say  anything  against  Morris  Caplan. 

Was  Amelia  in  love  with  him  maybe? 

What  did  Minnie  care?  Amelia  dropped  her  eyes  and 
turned  away  so  abruptly  that  Minnie  was  put  on  a  hith- 
erto unsuspected  scent. 

On  the  street  there  was  silence  between  the  girls  for 
some  time,  Amelia  having  perceived  Minnie's  nervousness 
and  realizing  that  her  accent  actually  did  grate  upon  her. 
Minnie  was  the  first  to  speak. 
"I've  got  something  to  tell  you." 

Amelia's  heart  gave  a  leap.  Perhaps  Morris  Caplan. 
who  clearly  was  attracted  to  Minnie,  had  proposed  to  her. 
For  a  moment  the  world  was  a  great  empty  place  to 


370  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Amelia,  then  loyalty  to  her  friend  asserted  itself  above 
alarm  on  her  own  account.  She  smiled  a  sickly  smile, 
and  from  between  pale  lips  came  the  query: 

"Did  Morris  Caplan  propose  to  you?" 

"Why,  no!'f 

So  Amelia  was  in  love  with  Morris  Caplan  and  was 
jealous !  Goodness,  all  the  months  that  Minnie  had  been 
giving  him  lessons  she  must  have  been  hurting  Amelia ! 
She  remembered  Abraham's  advice  to  terminate  the  les- 
sons. Amelia,  too,  would  probably  have  been  glad.  Min- 
nie saw  a  dull,  depressing  vista  ahead  of  empty  evenings 
without  calls  or  lessons.  It  was  hard.  And  Amelia  was 
actually  in  love — in  love  as  in  books.  She,  Minnie,  would 
like  to  be  in  love,  too;  her  life  was  so  horribly  dull  and 
empty.  But  with  whom  ?  Abraham  ?  She  shrank  within 
herself.  Then,  as  if  by  stealth,  her  thoughts  touched 
Morris  Caplan  but  instantly  withdrew  in  shame. 

Amelia  roused  her  by  saying: 

"I  guess  you  guess." 

"Yes." 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  After  a  time,  Amelia  re- 
marked meditatively : 

"He  don't  care  for  me." 

Minnie  made  no  answer.  From  her  experience  of  love 
in  literature  Morris  Caplan  did  not,  indeed,  seem  to  care 
for  Amelia,  and  she  could  not  offer  false  comfort. 

"I  think  he  loves  you,"  Amelia  vouchsafed,  smiling 
wistfully  and  with  a  nod  that  said:  "No  need  to  deny 
it" 
"  Minnie  threw  her  head  back  and  laughed. 

"Oh,  heavens !  I  believe  you're  jealous.  You  need  not 
be;  you  may  be  sure  it  isn't  so,  not  on  his  side  nor  on 
mine." 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  371 

But  Amelia  was  not  so  sure. 

Minnie  had  invited  Amelia  out  to  unburden  herself  of 
a  new  worry — the  loss  of  her  position.  The  chief  clerk 
of  the  Charities,  without  giving  Minnie  a  hearing,  had 
decided  from  the  nature  of  the  offended  substitute's  com- 
plaint that  Minnie  was  of  "that  sort" — an  anarchist ;  one 
who  disseminates  dissatisfaction,  dissension,  and  in  a 
pinch  throws  a  bomb;  the  Charities  was  safer  without 
such. 

Delicacy  of  feeling  prompted  Minnie  to  refrain  from 

obtruding  her  trouble  upon  Amelia  at  this  time. 
****** 

"I  beg  leave  to  make  application  for  the  position  of 
stenographer  as  per  your  advertisement  in  this  morning's 
New  York  World." 

Minnie  was  phrasing  the  letter  in  her  mind  as  she  lay 
in  bed  that  night,  prerented  from  sleeping  by  a  complex 
of  thoughts  and  emotions.  What  disturbed  her  almost 
as  much  as  the  loss  of  her  position  was  the  reason  for  the 
loss.  "I  told  them  the  truth  and  so  I  became  a  dangerous 
person!"  The  injustice  of  it  hurt.*  To  want  to  right  a 
wrong — was  that  to  be  dangerous?  There  ought  to  be 
some  redress,  some  justice.  But  there  wasn't,  and  the 
realization  that  there  wasn't  sickened  her  with  impo- 
tence. .  .  .  And  Abraham — Abraham  would  term  what 
she  had  done  an  "hysterical  outburst ;"  in  fact,  he  had 
foretold  dismissal.  Again  a  reprimand !  She  shrank  at 
the  thought.  How  she  hated  and  dreaded  these  repri- 
mands of  his !  For  what  ?  For  standing  up  for  the  right. 
How  anyone  could  think  her  conduct  anything  but  right 
puzzled  her  enormously.  .  .  .  Morris  Caplan  had  prom- 
ised her  a  position  if  she  were  ever  in  need  of  one,  but 
now  she  couldn't  accept  his  offer  on  account  of  Amelia. 
...  To  think  that  that  prosaic  Amelia  was  in  love,  actu- 


372  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

ally  in  love  as  in  books !  Was  Morris  Caplan  in  love  with 
Amelia  and  was  there  anything  she  could  do  to  further 
the  match?  ...  It  would  be  marvelous  to  be  in  love, 
too.  She  wondered  whether  she  ever  would  be  in  love 
and  what  the  emotions  were  like ;  whether  she  could  love 
deeply.  She  glided  over  the  past  and  wondered  where 
Louis  "the  paintner"  could  now  be;  whether  he  ever 
thought  of  her;  whether  she  would  ever  see  him  again. 
She  wondered  what  would  have  happened  to  her  had  she 
actually  married  him;  perhaps  she  would  now  be  a 
mother  of  several  children,  the  prototype  of  Mrs.  Argush. 
She  shuddered.  ...  As  by  a  breeze  her  thoughts  were 
wafted  upon  a  future  with  a  gallant  knight,  learned  and 
tremendously  enamored  of  her,  declaring  himself  pas- 
sionately, proclaiming  her  the  epitome  of  all  the  womanly 
virtues.  .  .  Then  disgust  for  the  commonplaceness  of 
her  life  fell  upon  her.  She  crossed  her  ams,  placed  one 
hand  on  each  shoulder  and  strained  herself  to  herself. 
"Oh,  gosh  darn  it !  ding  it !  the  deuce !  the  dickens !  I'm 
sick  of  it!  If  I  were  not  poor,  if  I  had  a  home  and  the 
proper  protection,  I  could  be  a  free  human  being.  To 
think  that  I  am  made  jobless  because  I  held  out  for  what 
I  considered  right !  I  hate  dependence  upon  other  people 
— hate  it — hate  it — hate  it !" 

XXXV 

Mr.  John  Maloney,  proprietor  of  the  Maloney  Paper 
Box  Company,  was  a  genial,  blue-eyed  Irishman,  whose 
sense  of  humor,  which  for  a  while  was  daunted  by  a 
siege  of  incompetent  stenographers,  came  into  its  own 
again  with  the  acquisition  of  Mildred  Mendel.  When 
Mr.  Maloney  recognized  in  Minnie  a  competent  worker 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  373 

and  was  sure  of  her  remaining  "steady,"  he  told  her 
some  of  his  bitter  experiences  with  a  view  to  making  him- 
self roar  (there  was  nothing  he  enjoyed  quite  so  much) 
and  to  hearing  the  girl's  young,  merry,  responsive  giggle 
— to  say  nothing  of  her  dancing  gray  eyes. 

"I  asked  one  of  'em  to  write  'the  boxes  which  ye  have 
is  no  good.'  She  wrote  'the  w-i-t-c-h  ye  have  is  no  good,' 
and  I  told  her  if  that  letter  had  gone  out,  I  could  'a  been 
arrested  for  interfering  in  family  affairs."  His  thunder- 
ing roar,  emanating  from  a  region  of  layers  of  bulging 
belly,  filled  the  office  with  itself  and  reverberations  and 
caused  Minnie  to  add  her  laughter  of  pleasure. 

How  Minnie  liked  John  Maloney.  He  was  the  first 
person  of  the  kind  she  had  ever  met,  a  free-and-easy, 
genial,  good-hearted,  good-natured,  hearty,  natural  crea- 
ture. 

And  John  Maloney  reciprocated  the  feeling.  She  was 
the  first  of  her  kind  he  had  met,  a  girl  who  could  give 
quick,  ready  response,  serious  or  funny,  who  could  ruffle 
her  forehead  like  a  grandmother  and  could  giggle  like  a 
schoolgirl.  "She's  a  smart  kid,  by  heck,"  he  would  say 
to  the  salesmen  and  others  of  the  staff.  And  soon  a  cor- 
dial relationship  between  the  two  was  established. 

All  of  which  circumstances  were  gleefully  imparted  to 
Abraham,  who  would  listen  paternally  as  Minnie  nar- 
rated the  happenings  of  the  intervals  between  his  visits. 
Occasionally  he  would  jerk  her  back  by  the  reins,  as  it 
were,  quietly,  as  if  by  his  very  manner  to  inculcate  some 
of  his  composure,  which  he  so  regretted  was  lacking  in 
her. 

"You  go  at  things  so  spiritedly.  Your  enthusiasm 
must  necessarily  be  short-lived.  How  long,  after  all, 


374  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

have  you  known  Mr.  Maloney?  Two  months,  and  you 
already  think  so  well  of  him?" 

Her  enthusiastic  recitals,  all  to  the  purpose  of  boosting 
a  John  Maloney,  who,  sanely  analyzed  and  properly 
pigeonholed,  was  a  mere  Irish  paper-box  merchant,  pro- 
duced upon  Abraham  the  impression  that  Minnie  was 
extravagant  in  the  expenditure  of  energy,  of  which,  he 
was  convinced,  she  had  none  too  much,  because  his  sis- 
ters were  stouter  and  able  to  walk  much  farther  than 
she.  What  a  way  she  had  of  exaggerating!  As  at  the 
Charities,  with  her  idea  of  cheaters  and  cheated,  and  now 
she  never  said  a  Avord  about  the  Charities — blown  from 
her  horizon  like  thistledown.  He  sighed  with  the  hard- 
ship of  managing  her.  Abraham  believed  he  was  indig- 
nant wholly  on  Minnie's  account;  and  it  is  a  shame  to 
have  to  give  him  away,  but  the  fact  was,  Abraham  was 
jealous. 

Minnie's  enthusiasm  seemed  to  remove  her  farther 
away  from  him  than  did  her  mere  disobedience.  He  had 
an  actual  physical  sensation  of  her  slipping  out  of  his 
hands.  To  be  sure,  a  very  definite  something  had  oc- 
curred several  weeks  earlier  to  shake  him.  He  and 
Minnie  had  unexpectedly  encountered  Morris  Caplan. 
As  this  was  the  first  time  she  had  seen  Mr.  Caplan  after 
Amelia's  confession,  she  promptly  carried  out  her  reso- 
lution to  give  Amelia  no  further  occasion  for  jealousy. 
Then  and  there  she  blurted  out  in  a  half -laughing,  half- 
serious  way,  that  she  would  have  to  give  up  teaching  him 
because  she  was  going  to  be  very  busy.  So  much  to 
Abraham's  intense  gratification.  But  the  very  next  mo- 
ment the  sun  went  behind  a  cloud.  Morris  Caplan  at 
first  refused  to  take  Minnie  seriously,  then,  as  she  per- 
sisted, his  face  reddened  and  fell  into  troubled  lines.  He 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  375 

looked  sincerely  forlorn.  He  begged  her,  regardless  of 
Abraham's  presence,  not  to  put  him  so  mercilessly  adrift. 
Minnie's  heart  was  touched.  Deciding  she  would  tell 
Amelia  with  the  greatest  persuasiveness — and  convince 
her,  too — that  she  need  not  be  jealous,  she  succumbed  to 
Morris  Caplan's  pleadings.  Abraham  suspected  Minnie's 
acquiescence  arose  from  a  tender  feeling  for  Morris 
Caplan,  and  resented  it,  though  scarcely  acknowledging 
his  resentment  to  himself.  (It  is  really  taking  a  liberty 
to  acknowledge  it  for  him.) 

Since  that  time  still  other  things  had  arisen  to  ruffle 
his  serene  sky.  Once  Minnie  had  refused  to  let  him  come 
to  see  her  simply  because  she  was  in  no  mood  for  his 
disciplining ;  and  once  when  he  took  her  to  task  for  hav- 
ing yielded  to  Morris  Caplan's  persuasion,  she  actually 
championed  her  pupil,  actually  declared  he  had  lots  of 
excellent  qualities  in  spite  of  his  accent  and  "kikish"  man- 
ners. 

Froward  Minnie !  Yet  there  is  no  washing  one's  hands 
easily  of  tar.  Something  about  Minnie  clung  to  Abra- 
ham's heart,  which  made  him  pensive,  restless,  unsatis- 
fied, anxious  to  keep  her  steered  close  to  his  own  shore. 
This  easy  swimming  of  hers  into  other  waters  gave  him 
the  sensation  of  his  own  drowning. 

XXXVI 

Mrs.  Ratkin  hesitated  before  definitely  diagnosing  her 
son's  case,  but  once  certain  of  his  ailment  she  knew  no 
peace.  She  had  greater  ambitions  for  her  boy.  Girls 
were  easily  enough  to  be  had.  Abraham,  so  educated,  so 
gentle,  so  moral!  whom  could  he  not  aspire  to  matri- 
monially? She  sighed  many  a  heavy  sigh  over  the  fate 


3/6  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

he  had  selected.  Love  was  a  matter  of  propinquity ;  had 
he  chosen  to  visit  another  girl  every  Sunday  for  a  year, 
he  could  just  as  readily  have  fallen  in  love  with  her.  Not 
that,  God  forbid!  anything  really  disparaging  could  be 
said  against  Minnie  Mendel.  She  was  a  nice  girl,  but 
there  were  nice  girls  who  were  also  pretty,  strong, 
wealthy,  of  real  nice  families.  Why  could  not  Abraham 
have  chosen  one  of  those?  "Nice  family"  stuck  in  her 
mind  especially.  Had  not  the  Mendel  family  the  skeleton 
of  an  arrest — not  like  the  one  that  had  come  about  in  her 
family,  by  an  accident — but  a  real  one,  a  premeditated 
one?  Mrs.  Ratkin  sighed.  Abraham  was  too  modest  al- 
ways. His  aspirations  never  rose  high  enough. 

She  left  this  bed  of  thought  and  heart-sickness  one 
day  resolved  to  pay  Sarah  a  visit.  Perhaps  her  conjec- 
tures after  all  were  incorrect.  Abraham  had  said  noth- 
ing to  her;  she  had  merely  drawn  conclusions  from  his 
preoccupation,  his  reduced  appetite,  his  frequent  visits  to 
Minnie  Mendel.  Tactfully  she  would  lead  Sarah  on  to 
talk.  Sarah,  Mrs.  Ratkin  reasoned,  saw  the  two  together 
often  enough  and  doubtless  knew  her  daughter's  feelings. 
Mrs.  Ratkin  sighed  and  hoped. 

Abraham  had  never  told  his  mother  that  Minnie,  like 
Jacob,  had  left  home  on  account  of  the  stepfather.  The 
whole  situation,  he  was  satisfied,  could  have  been  avoided 
if  only  Minnie  had  been  normally  tolerant ;  he  had  shrunk 
from  eliciting  the  same  criticism  from  his  mother.  From 
the  first  his  attitude  toward  Minnie  had  been  a  protec- 
tive one.  While  assuming  the  right  to  criticize  her,  since 
his  motives  were  the  tenderest,  he  felt  he  must  shield  her 

from  the  criticism  of  others. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

Sarah  was  alone  in  the  house.    It  was  a  Sunday  after- 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  377 

noon.  The  girls  were  visiting  Minnie,  and  Leopold  Pol- 
lack was  seeking  business  advice  from  Mrs.  Tannenbaum, 
as  the  bands  business  was  declining  steadily.  The  style 
had  undergone  a  radical  change,  from  hats  raised  at  one 
side  and  in  the  back  to  hats  flat  all  around,  so  that  bands 
were  going  out  of  use.  The  matter  had  given  Sarah  and 
Leopold  many  days  and  nights  of  worry,  and  Leopold 
was  now  gone  to  see  if  their  business  friend  could  sug- 
gest any  steps  for  them  to  take.  Sarah  would  have  ac- 
companied him  had  she  not  been  feeling  indisposed. 

She  sat  thinking  of  how  the  years  had  flown,  how  the 
children  had  grown  up,  how  close  to  all  being  over  the 
game  was  drawing,  how  queer  all  of  life  was.  What  a 
stubborn,  heartless  one  Minnie  was!  Sarah  had  never 
forgiven  her  the  cruel  slight  on  the  evening  of  Jacob's 
graduation. 

In  this  mood  it  was  that  Mrs.  Ratkin  came  in  upon  her. 

Minnie  ?  Indeed,  Minnie  had  spurned  her  mother  and 
her  home  the  very  day  Leopold  Pollack  had  come  into  it, 
as  if  he  were  a  veritable  bum  and  as  if  her  mother  had 
committed  a  vile  crime  in  marrying  again. 

For  the  very  reason  that  Sarah  felt  that  Mrs.  Ratkin 
was  critical  of  her,  she  exaggerated  her  grievances  and 
even  indulged  in  a  rhapsody  of  self-praise  so  that  Min- 
nie's unduti fulness  might  stand  out  the  more  flagrant. 
She  had  sent  the  fatherless  girl  to  high  school.  By  four 
children  she  had  performed  the  duties  of  both  parents. 
What  amount  of  appreciation  was  sufficient?  And  to 
think  that  Minnie  had  quibbled  about  a  little  more  work, 
a  little  less  work,  about  every  little  thing.  And  then  her 
heartlessness — to  have  shunned  her  own  mother  and  Leo- 
pold at  Jacob's  graduation !  Something  no  mother  could 
forgive.  And  noiv  her  crazy  stunts — lost  an  excellent 


3?8  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

position  at  the  Peoples  Charities,  a  position  of  eminence, 
because  of  some  crazy  anarchistic  notions. 

"God  mine !  God  mine !"  thought  Mrs.  Ratkin.  "If  he 
really  wants  this  girl,  he  must  be  crazy."  She  would  nip 
the  thing  in  the  bud  with  the  strictest  maternal  inter- 
vention. She  sat  up  straighter,  her  chin  set  itself  more 
firmly,  and  her  mother-love  and  mother-pride  joined  in 
staunch  mobilization  against  her  son's  threatening  enemy, 
Minnie  Mendel. 

When  she  had  gone,  Sarah  awoke  to  the  stinging  con- 
sciousness of  having  blurted  out  things  she  should  never 
have  said.  She  could  have  bit  her  tongue  off.  Why  had 
she  taken  Mrs.  Ratkin — Mrs.  Ratkin  of  all  women — into 
her  confidence  ?  Mrs.  Ratkin,  who  had  nothing  but  praise 
for  her  own  children,  who  even  exaggerated  their  vir- 
tues. Sarah  hated  herself.  When  the  girls  came  home, 
and  intending  to  make  her  laugh,  told  her  of  Minnie  and 
Morris  Caplan,  she  ordered  them  angrily  to  keep  quiet, 
slammed  the  door  of  her  bedroom  shut,  and  locked  her- 
self in. 

XXXVII 

Toward  evening  Abraham  returned  from  his  visit  to 
Minnie,  which  he  had  shared  with  Morris  Caplan  and  Ida 
and  Beckie.  She  had  told  stories  of  John  Maloney  and  of 
several  experiences  with  him  in  restaurants  to  which  he 
had  taken  her  to  lunch.  Abraham  had  found  her  witty, 
gay,  arch,  charming.  His  delighted  spirits  still  hovered 
around  her.  If  only  she  would  lend  herself  to  sensible 
discipline,  if  she  would  read  properly,  begin  to  think 
properly,  what  a  splendid  all-around  girl  she  would  be! 
From  out  of  the  depth  of  his  feeling  he  was  ready  to 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  379 

send  up  a  prayer  for  the  power  to  instil  this  desirable 
quality  into  her.  A  yearning  for  Minnie  as  his  wife  laid 
itself  like  a  warm,  velvety  hand  upon  his  heart. 

He  and  his  mother  were  home  alone  together.  All 
through  supper  he  was  silent,  the  while  Mrs.  Ratkin 
watched  him  closely.  Had  Abraham  watched  his  mother 
just  as  closely,  he  would  have  seen  she  was  hot  and  ner- 
vous, that  her  hands  shook  when  she  served  him,  and 
that  she  sighed  and  sighed.  Finally  he  left  the  table  and 
went  into  the  Mission-furnished  library  to  read.  Mrs. 
Ratkin  cleared  the  table,  every  moment  or  two  peering 
into  the  library.  She  was  waiting  for  a  moment  when 
she  could  feel  sure  of  a  steady  voice.  At  last  she  walked 
to  the  threshold  between  the  two  rooms  and  called : 

"Abe." 

He  looked  up  from  his  book.     "Yes,  mother." 

"Are  you  there?" 

Always  when  his  mother  appended  this  needless  query, 
Abraham  would  smile  and  flutter  his  eyelids,  and  reply 
tenderly,  as  though  speaking  to  a  child : 

"No,  mother,  I  am  not." 

And  always  Mrs.  Ratkin  would  smile  loving  apprecia- 
tion upon  her  son.  This  time,  however,  there  was  no 
smile.  She  coughed  and  straightened  the  front  of  her 
shirtwaist. 

"Abe,"  she  began,  obviously  steadying  her  voice,  "tell 
me  the  truth,  are  you  in  love  with  Minnie  Mendel  ?" 

Abraham  flushed  scarlet.  He  was  too  taken  aback  to 
make  immediate  reply.  Then  a  feeling  of  deep  tender- 
ness for  his  mother  and  Minnie — as  if  they  were  one — 
came  into  his  heart.  He  dropped  his  eyes  and  answered 
caressingly : 

"Yes,  mother." 


38o  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Mrs.  Ratkin  went  white. 

"Do  you  know  her  well?"  she  asked,  her  voice  con- 
trolled, her  eyes  fixed  steadfastly  upon  her  son. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  replied,  with  an  embarrassed  smile. 

"But  do  you?"  the  mother  insisted,  her  voice  rising. 
"I  visited  her  mother  to-day.  Her  mother  herself  says 
the  girl  is  crazy — is  a  crazy  anarchist — quarrelsome,  did 
not  stay  a  moment  in  the  house  after  the  stepfather,  a 
perfect  gentleman,  came  into  it — has  been  knocking 
around  in  all  sorts  of  strange  places  rather  than  live  with 
her  own  mother.  Do  you,  my  son,  know  all  these 
things  ?" 

"Yes,  mother,"  Abraham  replied,  his  forehead  ruffled, 
a  look  of  displeasure  coming  into  his  eyes  and  a  note  of 
irritation  into  his  voice. 

"Well,  if  you  do — are  there  not  plenty  of  nice  girls  in 
the  city  of  New  York  ?" 

"Mother,"  Abraham  replied,  "you  must  not  speak  this 
way.  You  do  not  know  Minnie " 

Mrs.  Ratkin  experienced  an  overwhelming  sense  of 
having  lost,  which,  however,  was  at  once  supplanted  by 
a  more  vigorous  spirit  of  fight. 

"Oh,  you,  too,  must  be  crazy !"  she  shouted. 

This  was  the  first  time  in  all  the  years  that  Mrs.  Rat- 
kin  had  forgotten  her  latter-day,  well-learned  mother- 
dignity. 

Abraham  flushed. 

"Mother!"  he  cried,  rising  from  his  seat  and  holding 
her  down  with  his  glance.  But  Mrs.  Ratkin  was  not 
daunted. 

"No  girl,"  she  cried,  "who  does  not  live  at  home  is 
worth  being  courted." 

The   thought   crossed    Abraham's   mind    that    Minnie 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  381 

ought  really  to  live  at  home,  and  he  averted  his  eyes  as 
if  fearing  his  mother  might  read  the  thought. 

"How — what  sort  of  a  way  is  it  for  a  decent  girl  to 
live  with  strangers  when  she  has  her  own  family  ?"  Mrs. 
Ratkin  shrugged  her  shoulders  in  blended  disgust  and  in- 
comprehension. 

Here  Abraham  interrupted  with  greater  sharpness  than 
was  his  wont. 

"Mother,  you  do  not  know  her." 

Mrs.  Ratkin's  objections  were  not  a  whit  lessened,  but 
she  saw  her  son  was  unbendable,  and  keeping  as  much 
bitterness  out  of  her  tone  as  she  could  she  said : 

"Very  well,  my  son,  I  hope  you  will  not  live  to  rue  it." 

The  remainder  of  the  evening  was  spent  by  both  in 
deep  reflection. 

"Minnie  must  be  reconciled  to  her  mother,"  Abraham 
decided. 

"So  he  has  actually  asked  the  girl  to  marry  him !" 

Though  Mrs.  Ratkin's  heart  bled  with  anguish,  she 
refused  to  believe.  It  could  not  be  that  such  a  calamity 
was  to  befall  her  boy — and  her,  his  mother.  There  are 
prospective  mothers-in-law  whom  only  the  wedding-day 
convinces. 

XXXVIII 

Abraham  Ratkin  had  to  keep  his  bed  with  a  cold  and 
fever  for  three  weeks,  during  which  fate  formed  its  own 
web. 

Though  Minnie,  to  all  outward  appearances,  was  vi- 
vacious and  cheerful,  in  the  secret  recesses  of  her  being 
she  was  restless  and  filled  with  longing.  Her  heart  was 
reaching  out,  unaccountably,  to  the  inexplicable  some- 


382  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

thing  to  which  all  youth  feels  it  has  a  claim,  as  if  life  were 
planned  for  giving  full  satisfaction.  Many  a  time  after 
her  friends'  visits  she  would  go  to  her  room  to  drop 
down  on  her  bed  with  a  great  aching  emptiness  in  her 
heart. 

During  the  weeks  that  Abraham  was  ill  she  was  par- 
ticularly lonely  and  brooding;  a  fact  upon  which  a  num- 
ber of  people  at  the  Maloney  Paper  Box  office  remarked, 
so  that  Mr.  Maloney  bestowed  upon  her  numerous  side 
glances  of  apprehension.  Was  she,  he  wondered,  like 
himself,  finding  their  mere  office  association  inadequate? 

A  plan  had  arisen  and  revolved  in  his  mind  and  each 
day  drew  nearer  to  fruition,  when  one  morning'  Minnie 
came  suddenly  upon  him  with  the  announcement  that 
she  had  decided  to  give  up  her  position  in  his  office. 

XXXIX 

On  an  evening  when  Minnie  was  in  a  particularly  dis- 
gruntled mood,  she  entered  the  dining-room  for  supper 
to  find  Amelia  Rubin  in  tears.  Amelia  was  hungry,  and 
the  supper,  it  seemed,  was  not  graciously  putting  itself 
out  to  cater  to  her  appetite.  The  soup  was  not  the  sort 
she  liked,  the  meat  was  tough,  the  boiled  potato  was 
soapy,  the  spinach,  to  her  taste  an  atrocity  at  best,  was 
gritty,  and  her  share  of  lettuce  was  withered  as  if  from 
old  age.  Amelia  looked  up  at  Minnie  with  tears  in  her 
eyes.  It  was  the  busy  season  "by  shirtwaists,"  and  the 
over-worked  Amelia  poured  out  the  list  of  her  hardships 
in  almost  one  breath.  The  greatest  of  her  grievances  was 
that  at  the  officers'  table  sat  the  pudgy,  under-worked 
matron  with  a  dish  of  lettuce  verily  of  the  class  of  the 
Elite  of  the  Vegetable  Kingdom.  Did  she  deserve  it 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  383 

more  than  Amelia?  As  if  Amelia  had  not  slaved  the 
whole  day !  As  if  the  matron  toiled  any  harder,  as  if 
what  was  good  for  her  was  not  good  for  Amelia,  too ! 

Less  than  this  was  needed  to  rouse  Minnie's  ire  that 
evening.  She  had  gone  about  from  task  to  task  during 
the  day  in  morose  silence,  with  a  deep  distaste  for  the  pet- 
tinesses that  filled  her  life.  She  yearned,  she  ached,  for 
she  hardly  knew  what — for  some  onward,  upward,  for- 
ward stride.  Impulsively  she  grabbed  up  Amelia's  plate 
of  lettuce  and  stalked  with  it  over  to  the  matron's  table. 
She  demanded,  red  in  the  face,  quivering  from  head  to 
foot  with  indignation  and  looking  fierce  enough  to  throw 
the  lettuce  in  the  matron's  face : 

"Do  you  call  this  fit  to  eat?" 

Girls  at  nearby  tables  suspended  all  activity,  whether 
chatting  or  the  consuming  of  food,  and  gaped  open- 
mouthed/  It  was  an  unprecedented  impertinence.  No 
one  had  ever  before  dared  to  break  the  sacred  convention 
of  utmost  respect  due  the  matron.  The  worthy  lady 
raised  herself  slightly  from  her  chair. 

"How  DARE  you?" 

"How  dare  YOU?" 

Minnie  deliberately  emptied  Amelia's  plate  of  its  let- 
tuce, took  several  leaves  from  the  matron's  plate,  stalked 
back  with  it,  head  high,  to  Amelia's  table,  and  set  the 
Better  Goods  before  her,  under  her  breath  muttering : 
"Mean,  unfair,  unjust."  Then  she  retired  to  her  room, 
where  she  threw  herself  down  on  the  bed. 

In  a  few  moments  there  came  a  summons  from  the 
superintendent.  Minnie  went  to  the  office  prepared  to  de- 
fend her  misdemeanor. 

"Well,  Mildred  Mendel,  what's  this  I  hear  about  you  ?" 

"I  did  it." 


384  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"Have  you  any  excuse  to  offer?" 

"Yes." 

"What?" 

"I  don't  think  it's  fair.  Amelia  was  just  as  tired,  just 
as  hungry  as  the  matron  and  deserved  nice  lettuce,  too." 

"What  was  the  matter  with  the  lettuce?" 

"It  was  rotten." 

"Couldn't  Amelia  tell  about  it  without  your  quarrel- 
some interference?" 

"It  was  no  accident  that  the  matron's  lettuce  was  nice 
and  Amelia's  bad.  It  was  an  unfair  discrimination.  It 
happens  lots  of  times.  The  matron  ought  not  to  eat  in 
the  same  room  at  the  same  time,  then." 

The  superintendent  laughed. 

"You're  a  regular  little  anarchist,  eh?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  call  it." 

The  superintendent  whisked  her  under  the  chin,  and 
her  manner  said  something  about  Minnie  being  awfully 
young. 

"Where  do  you  work  now  ?" 

"In  a  paper-box  house." 

The  superintendent  reflected. 

"Are  you  sort  of  unhappy  about  things  ?" 

How  had  the  superintendent  guessed!  Minnie's  eye- 
lids quivered.  She  made  no  reply. 

"I  know  of  a  position  that  is  open  in  the  Academy  Set- 
tlement, secretary  to  the  headworker.  It  would  be  a  nice 
environment  for  you.  Do  you  think  you  would  like  the 
change?" 

The  darling,  wonderful  superintendent!  Always  she 
was  doing  something  just  great.  Minnie's  heart  fairly 
melted  with  regret  at  having  caused  a  disturbance,  and  if 
she  had  not  felt  that  justice  was  on  her  side,  she  might 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  385 

have  said  she  was  sorry.    As  it  was,  she  only  wiped  tears 
from  her  eyes  and  thanked  the  superintendent. 

Three  hours  later  she  was  the  engaged  secretary  of 
Doctor  Evangel ;  and  the  following  morning  she  gave 
notice  to  John  Maloney  that  in  a  week  she  would  leave. 

XL 

"Yer  a  foolish  kid.  I'd  keep  on  raising  ye  till  ye'd  be 
dizzy." 

Minnie  laughed,  though  she  felt  badly  at  having  to  dis- 
appoint Mr.  Maloney. 

When  he  had  been  finally  convinced  of  her  inflexibility, 
he  had  assumed  an  aggrieved  attitude,  and  for  a  few 
days  had  scarcely  a  word  to  say  to  her,  which  caused  her 
sincere  pain,  so  that  one  noontime  when  he  invited  her 
to  lunch,  she  accepted  with  no  mincing  of  eagerness,  and 
at  once  dropped  her  work,  washed  her  hands,  and  donned 
her  hat  and  coat.  Mr.  Maloney  observed  that  she  had 
difficulty  in  keeping  the  tears  back.  He  himself  was  feel- 
ing rather  mournful. 

He  chose  a  new  dining-place,  and,  what  surprised  Min- 
nie more,  requested  a  private  dining-room. 

"I'll  miss  ye,  kid,"  he  said,  when  they  were  seated  and 
the  waiter  had  disappeared  with  the  order. 

"You  will  not  be  too  angry  to  come  to  see  me,  Mr. 
Maloney?"  Minnie  asked  earnestly. 

"But  what  makes  ye  so  stubborn  about  leaving?"  He 
resorted  to  persuasion  again.  "What's  in  a  settlement 
house?  Hard  work,  small  pay,  long  hours — 'exploitation,' 
as  ye  yourself  call  it."  Mr.  Maloney  almost  emitted  a 
roar,  but  the  occasion  was  too  solemn  to  permit  of  the 


386  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

indulgence,  and  he  only  smiled,  Minnie  accompanying 
him  with  a  sorry  attempt  at  the  same. 

"Give  up  the  idea,  kid,"  he  tried  again. 

"I  don't  like  business ;  it  does  not  interest  me." 

Mr.  Maloney  raised  his  eyes  hastily  in  involuntary  dis- 
approval of  the  words  so  uncomplimentary  to  his  Sacred 
Covenant  with  Paper  Boxes. 

"But  yer  interested  in  that  there  other  thing,  too — that 
there  social  justice  stunt.  If  ye  do  less  in  the  day,  ye 
have  more  time  and  ambition  for  the  other  at  night." 
With  sudden  fresh  enthusiasm  he  added:  "Ugh,  I  know 
those  settlement  joints.  The  gerrls  work  there  till  they're 
old  maids."  This  with  a  glance  at  Minnie  that  said  "Be- 
ware !" 

Minnie,  to  whom  the  idea  was  new,  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. Ordinarily  Mr.  Maloney  could  not  have  resisted  the 
infection  of  her  laugh.  The  vital  matter  in  his  mind 
pinned  him  down  to  sobriety.  He  surveyed  his  finger- 
nails, then  dug  them  deep  into  his  palm. 

"Mildred,"  he  began  quaveringly,  his  breath  coming 
short  (the  "Mildred"  startled  her  as  he  had  always  ad- 
dressed her  as  "Miss  Mendel"),  "will  ye  be  willing  to 
marry  me?" 

Minnie  stared.  Was  the  man  who  had  just  spoken 
Mr.  John  Maloney,  her  employer,  proprietor  of  the  Ma- 
loney Paper  Box  Company?  She  was  mute. 

The  waiter  appeared  with  the  order.  Sensing  some- 
thing (in  the  way  of  waiters),  he  set  the  dishes  down 
hastily  and  disappeared  with  a  faint,  knowing  grin. 

Minnie's  heart-beats  thundered  so  in  her  ears  that  she 
was  afraid  Mr.  Maloney  would  hear  them.  She  fast- 
ened her  eyes  on  her  bowl  of  cereal. 

"Well,  Mildred,"  Mr.  Maloney  said  eagerly  when  the 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  387 

door  had  closed  on  the  waiter,  "I'm  a  rich  feller ;  I'll  take 
good  care  of  ye.  And  that  there  social  justice  business" 
( Minnie  had  told  him  the  circumstances  of  her  discharge 
from  the  Charities)  "don't  cut  no  ice  with  me ;  ye  kin 
go  as  far  as  ye  like  with  me."  Mr.  Maloney  was  pleased 
with  his  indulgent  spirit  and  returned  the  upper  half  of 
his  profuse  body  to  the  back  of  his  chair  with  an  air  of 
self-esteem. 

Minnie  still  sat  speechless.  Wiping  his  forehead  with 
an  exceptionally  large  handkerchief,  Mr.  Maloney  con- 
tinued : 

"If  ye  were  married  to  a  rich  man,  ye  could  do  yer 
settlement  work  better  even — ye  could  do  anything  ye 
please." 

Minnie's  mind  was  startled  out  of  itself.  Her  imagi- 
nation launched  her  upon  membership  in  the  Ladies'  Aid 
Society  of  the  Helina  Heimath,  donned  her  with  clothes 
of  simple,  expensive,  subdued  elegance,  rendered  her 
benefactress  of  countless  ice-cream-and-cake  treats  to 
the  children  of  the  Heimath,  gave  her  the  opportunity 
to  shake  hands  society  fashion  (from  up  down)  with 
the  superintendent  of  the  Heimath,  and  endowed  her  with 
the  right  to  engage  another  matron  for  the  Alpha  Home. 

She  was  jostled  out  of -her  fancies  by  Mr.  Maloney,  fat 
and  forty,  who,  interpreting  her  silence  favorably,  had 
ardently  emitted: 

"Darling!"  He  was  leaning  forward  in  his  seat.  His 
moist,  fat  hand  sought  to  enslave  hers. 

She  snatched  her  hand  away  under  the  shock  of  a 
physical  revulsion  such  as  only  the  aesthetic  young  know. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Maloney!"  she  gasped. 

Fear  that  it  would  not  be  such  smooth  sailing  pierced 
Mr.  Maloney 's  heart.  He  rose  and  came  closer.  Minnie 


388  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

also  rose.  Mr.  Maloney  wanted  to,  but  dared  not,  take 
her  in  his  arms. 

"I  can  give  ye  everything  money  can  buy,"  he  said 
limply  in  comparison  with  the  fervor  of  his  feelings. 
"What  have  ye  now,  living  in  a  working  gerrls'  home, 
with  ten  dollars  a  week  wages — better — look  at  the  ad- 
vantages." He  spread  his  hands.  They  extended  only 
a  little  beyond  his  huge  bulk,  and  Minnie  noticing  it 
turned  sick.  Then,  too,  the  "New  Woman"  in  her,  whom 
she  had  come  to  know  through  her  reading,  was  out- 
raged. With  a  trace  of  histrionicism,  she  asked: 

"Do  you  think  I  can  be  bought  like  merchandise?" 

Mr.  Maloney  winced.  He  had  not  expected  that  Min- 
nie would  be  unwilling.  Secretly  he  thought :  "That  little 
snipper !"  Aloud  he  said :  "Wait  till  yer  a  bit  older. 
Ye'll  be  glad  to  git  a  feller  like  me ;  they  don't  grow 
in  five-and-ten-cent  stores." 

Minnie  reached  for  her  coat.  He  took  it,  and,  while 
helping  her  on  with  it,  tried  to  snatch  a  kiss.  Minnie 
shuddered  and  withdrew.  Her  vision  played  her  a  trick  : 
Mr.  Maloney  spread  and  multiplied  into  the  foreman  of 
the  Titanic  Biscuit  Company,  the  Doctor  of  the  past, 
Louis  "the  paintner." 

Mr.  Maloney  took  hasty  notice  of  the  fact  that  most 
of  the  food  they  had  ordered  remained  on  the  table  un- 
touched, and  he  was  not  without  regret  on  this  detail 
as  he  led  the  way  out. 

XLI 

That  same  evening  Abraham,  who  had  recovered  from 
his  cold,  came  to  call  on  Minnie.  The  news  of  her 
change  of  position  annoyed  him  immensely.  Could  she 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  389 

not  have  waited  for  advice?  The  gross  folly  of  return- 
ing to  charity  work  when  it  was  such  a  trial  to  her  tem- 
per! Before  long  she  would  again  be  playing  ball  with 
"cheaters"  and  "cheated" — getting  herself  into  trouble — 
losing  another  position.  Wasn't  the  very  lettuce  incident 
evidence?  Abraham  fairly  puffed  with  disapproval.  He 
rose  and  made  nervous  strides  across  the  Alpha  Home 
sitting-room. 

Minnie  sat  self-conscious  and  mortally  put  out  by  his 
eternal  faultfinding.  She  could  have  bitten  her  tongue  off 
for  having  spoken.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  innum- 
erable times  to  refrain  from  taking  him  into  her  confi- 
dence, and  then  had  prattled,  prattled  like  a  ridiculous 
child.  Just  because  she  grew  so  tense  she  couldn't  keep 
things  to  herself.  She  was  thoroughly  disgusted  with 
herself  for  growing  so  tense. 

As  Abraham  paced  the  room  the  slit  of  the  back  of  his 
coat,  opening  and  closing  alternately,  revealed  and  hid  a 
small  button.  It  revolted  Minnie,  and  as  she  watched  the 
movement  of  Abraham's  thin  legs,  she  felt  a  vague  dis- 
like of  him  creep  upon  her.  As  if  to  get  farther  away 
from  him,  she  drew  deeper  into  her  chair.  If  only  he 
would  sit  down.  Yet  she  felt  an  indescribable  respect  for 
him  and  was  grateful  for  his  interest  in  her.  Wearied  by 
her  conflicting  feelings,  she  sighed  and  covered  her  eyes 
with  her  hands.  When  she  removed  them,  after  a  time, 
she  saw  Abraham,  who  thought  she  was  in  tears,  stand- 
ing in  front  of  her.  Since  she  was  not  in  tears,  he  re- 
tired to  his  chair,  from  where  he  regarded  her  fixedly 
and  began  to  talk  of  what  was  greatly  on  his  mind. 

"Minnie,  you  know  you  are  a  young  woman  now, 
nearly  twenty.  Soon  you'll  be  thinking  of  getting  mar- 
ried." 


390 

Minnie's  heart  leaped.  She  thought  of  Mr.  Maloney. 
She  gave  Abraham  a  hasty  look  of  inquiry. 

"Do  you  know,  Minnie,  your  being  away  from  home 

is  going  to  speak  against  you "  He  hesitated,  his 

eyelids  fluttering.  He  scarcely  knew  how  to  say  what 
had  been  on  his  heart  to  say  the  whole  three  weeks  of 
his  interfering  illness. 

Speak  against  her !  As  if  love  needed  credentials ! 
She  flushed  and  scowled.  What  would  be  his  next  step 
in  the  mathematical  mapping  out  of  her  life? 

"A  man  has  his  family  to  satisfy.  A  girl  who  does  not 
live  at  home  is  sort  of — sort  of  looked  down  upon."  His 
heart  ached ;  he  hated  to  hurt  her.  As  if  to  stifle  a  sigh, 
he  brought  his  hand  up  to  his  mouth  with  self-conscious 
clumsiness.  A  sharp,  fierce  resentment  of  Abraham 
seized  Minnie  and  at  the  same  time  a  lunatic  fear  that 
he  might  touch  her.  She  shrank  back  visibly. 

Some  girls  entered  the  room  and  Abraham  suggested  a 
walk,  checking  the  refusal  on  Minnie's  lips  by  handing 
her  her  hat,  which  she  had  brought  down  in  preparation 
for  their  customary  stroll. 

"I  am  convinced,  Minnie,"  he  said,  when  they  were  on 
the  street,  "that  you  ought  to  go  home  to  your  people. 
The  other  girls  find  it  possible  to  stay  at  home.  I  don't 
see  why  you  can't,  too.  It  would  be  so  much  more  de- 
cent." . 

It  was  like  a  physical  onslaught.  Presently  the  acute 
sensation  of  shock  passed  over  into  indignation.  He  was 
prescribing  by  formula.  Soon  he  would  be  telling  her 
to  mould  her  nose  into  the  shape  of  some  one  else's.  In- 
dividual circumstances  did  not  exist  for  him ;  all  people 
must  act  in  the  same  way,  have  the  same  feelings,  the 
same  thoughts.  She  hated  him.  She  wished  she  could 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  391 

run  away  from  him.  As  in  the  old  days  with  "Fights," 
so  now  again  he  was  reducing  her  to  impotence  and  ir~ 
resoluteness. 

"Have  you  ever  thought  how  a  man  in  love  with  you 
would  feel  about  your  living  in  a  working-girls'  home?" 

A  childish  passion  to  prove  him  in  the  wrong  pos- 
sessed her. 

"Don't  be  so  sure  you  know  how  every  man  would 
feel,"  she  burst  out.  "Mr.  Maloney  asked  me  to  marry 
him  and  he  knows  I  live  in  the  Home.  There  now !" 

There  were  more  things  seething  within  her  that  would 
not  frame  themselves  into  words. 

Abraham  spun  round  like  a  top.  His  hat  tipped  a  little 
to  one  side,  and  his  lips  parted. 

"What  was  that  ?"  he  asked. 

"YES  !    You  heard  right !"    She  drew  away  from  him. 

They  walked  several  blocks  in  silence.  Abraham  was 
thinking :  "She  is  indignant.  Poor  little  girl.  Perhaps  I 
am  too  critical.  It  must  be  hard  for  her  to  realize  that  I 
love  her  so  when  I  am  always  finding  fault.  What  dif- 
ference does  it  really  make  that  she  lives  in  a  home? 
Mama  will  come  round  when  she  gets  to  know  her  bet- 
ter. With  all  her  faults  she  is  mighty  sweet,  mighty 
sweet."  He  recalled  her  pretty  repartee,  her  merry  laugh. 
He  forgave  her  everything  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart, 
and  felt  nothing  but  tenderness  for  her.  He  smiled  in- 
dulgently at  the  thought  of  Mr.  Maloney,  a  gentile,  fat, 
elderly,  aspiring  Minnieward.  He  looked  round  at  his 
Minnie.  Her  face  was  pale  and  troubled.  He  took  her 
by  the  elbow.  Poor  little  girl. 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  This  evening  he  would  not 
tell  her,  he  decided.  He  would  wait  until  Sunday  when 
he  would  be  feeling  better  and  she  would  be  in  a  more 


392  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

suitable  frame  of  mind.  His  thoughts  journeyed  pleas- 
antly to  a  few  years  hence  when  he  would  be  sufficiently 
advanced  as  to  salary  and  the  sweet  creature  beside  him 
would  be  his  own  little  wife. 

As  he  was  still  a  convalescent  and  the  prescribed  hour 
for  going  to  bed  was  nine  o'clock,  he  very  tenderly  sug- 
gested that  they  return  to  the  Alpha  Home,  so  that  he 
might  take  leave,  so  tenderly,  indeed,  that  Minnie  looked 
at  him  once  to  make  sure,  and  a  second  time  to  express 

gratitude. 

****** 

Morris  Caplan's  bank  account  was  not  doing  him  any 
special  good  that  he  could  see.  The  muffled  sounds  of  his 
first-class  boarding-house  were  getting  on  his  nerves. 
There  were  evenings  when  he  felt  moved  to  pound  on 
its  walls  merely  for  the  sake  of  disturbing  the  gentility 
of  the  atmosphere.  On  other  evenings,  of  milder  moods, 
he  had  visions  of  a  home  of  his  own,  the  patter  of  chil- 
dren's feet,  a  refined  woman's  voice;  and  if  these  hap- 
pened to  be  lesson  evenings,  he  found  extra  delight  in 
Minnie's  company  and  allowed  himself  to  hope  for  a 
happy  future.  But  when  he  compared  himself  with 
Abraham  Ratkin,  a  college  graduate,  who  was  also  in  the 
arena,  his  hopes  paled. 

"Kike,"  he  would  rebuke  himself  for  his  audacity, 
"where  do  you  creep?"  and  he  would  try  to  forget  him- 
self in  the  company  of  gayer  young  women  with  whom 
he  would  skip  off  to  dances,  vaudeville  shows,  and  late- 
hour  eating-houses.  He  would  spend  lavishly  and  con- 
duct himself  like  an  all-round  good  sport,  overdoing 
everything  to  work  the  self-depreciation  out  of  his  sys- 
tem. Afterwards  he  would  return  to  his  room  to  brood 
and  philosophize  that  all  the  world's  a  fool  and  he  not 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  393 

the  least  of  fools  in  it.  One  evening,  in  a  charitable 
frame  of  mind  toward  himself,  he  allowed  that  after  all 
he  wasn't  such  a  bad  "feller,"  he  would  make  a  good 
husband ;  at  thirty-six  a  man  was  bound  to  know  how  to 
treat  a  woman.  With  money  to  burn  and  a  good  heart 
to  boot,  why  might  he  not  be  as  desirable  as  a  whipper- 
snapper  of  an  Abraham  Ratkin,  who,  though  he  boasted 
an  intellectual  forehead,  could  provide  a  wife  with  no 
greater  luxury  than  bread  and  cheese?  "He  thinks  he 
takes  the  cake!"  Before  long  Morris  Caplan  saw  him- 
self as  not  so  unworthy  a  competitor  and  as  mighty  much 
of  a  damn  fool  for  having  waited  so  long  before  at  least 
giving  himself  a  chance.  "Why,  the  girl  might  actually 
be  caring  for  me !"  He  swelled.  "Otherwise  why  would 
she  keep  on  giving  me  lessons  and  without  accepting 
pay?"  He  owed  it  to  himself  and  to  her  at  least  to  "find 
out,  to  make  sure  one  way  or  'die  yadder.' " 

He  reached  the  Alpha  Home  just  as  Abraham  Ratkin 
was  taking  leave. 

For  his  part,  Morris  Caplan  was  mighty  pleased  that 
colds  were  included  in  the  scheme  of  things,  so  that 
Abraham  Ratkin  was  obliged  just  then  to  keep  early 
hours.  Morris  Caplan's  satisfaction  reached  Abraham, 
who  scowled,  and  would  have  changed  his  mind  and 
stayed,  had  he  not  been  afraid  of  appearing  ridiculous. 

The  moment  Morris  Caplan  and  Minnie  entered  the 
Alpha  Home  sitting-room,  she  dropped  into  a  chair,  gave 
a  whistling  sigh,  threw  her  hands  up  and  laughed  tear- 
fully. Naturally,  Morris  Caplan  was  curious.  Minnie 
exploded. 

"Oh,  he  makes  me  sick  and  tired.  He  wears  me  out. 
He  is  forever  trying  to  make  me  over.  I  am  always  at 
fault  about  everything,  everywhere,  every  time,  now,  for- 


394  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

ever,  and  a  day  later."  She  laughed  again  and  shook 
herself  as  if  to  throw  off  Abraham's  presence.  The  tears 
were  in  her  eyes,  and  her  feelings  were  tense  enough  to 
have  warranted  a  spell  of  hysteria. 

To  Morris  Caplan  the  heavens  opened.  In  a  burst  of 
brilliance  he  saw  Minnie  in  a  bridal  veil  tripping  by  his 
side.  So  that  Ratkin  "feller"  was  not  her  favorite !  His 
heart  fairly  danced  within  him.  The  Alpha  Home  sit- 
ting-room was  too  small,  too  familiar  for  his  new  emo- 
tions v 

He  proposed  a  walk. 

"I've  just  come  back." 

"But  you  wuzent  in  pleasant  company." 

She  smiled  and  went.  It  was  a  mild  evening.  Morris 
Caplan  led  her  to  a  bench  in  Central  Park.  Minnie  was 
silent  because  of  a  mind  crowded  with  thought.  Morris 
Caplan  was  silent  because  of  the  turbulence  of  his  heart. 
How  to  say  it !  When  to  say  it !  He  felt  suddenly  like 
a  silly  boy.  She  was  so  much  younger  than  he.  He  was 
accustomed  to  being  a  bachelor.  Muffled  sounds  of  his 
boarding-house  reached  his  ears — the  loneliness  and  drab- 
ness  of  it.  How  much  nicer  a  home  and  an  end  of  eat- 
ing in  restaurants — a  child  or  two.  .  .  .  He  turned  im- 
pulsively and  laid  his  hand  on  Minnie's,  which  was  rest- 
ing in  her  lap. 

"What  is  it  ?"  Minnie  asked. 

Simply  as  a  child,  he  told  her: 

"I  love  you.  I  think  you  have  no  faults."  What  bet- 
ter could  he  say  as  a  rival  of  Abraham  Ratkin  ? 

She  looked  at  him  smilingly,  thinking  he  was  jesting. 
But  no,  she  could  tell  from  his  face  he  was  in  earnest. 
She  tried  to  withdraw  her  hand.  He  held  it  more  firmly. 
A  faint  anxiety  came  into  his  eyes.  He  was  experiencing 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  395 

one  of  those  moments  of  intense  suspense  in  which  a  man 
sees  his  fate  swinging  in  the  balance. 

From  sheer  nervousness  Minnie  laughed. 

Morris  Caplan  was  annoyed. 

"Don't  laugh!"  he  said,  squeezing  her  hand. 

She  tried  to  wrench  her  hand  away.  She  was  in  a  tur- 
moil of  alarm,  incredulousness,  resentment,  as  though 
Morris  Caplan  were  unjustly  imposing  something  upon 
her.  It  was  a  horrid  situation.  Poor  Amelia !  And  two 
proposals  in  one  day !  Heavens,  everything  had  to  hap- 
pen to  her. 

"Let  go  my  hand,  Mr.  Caplan.  Ah,  please  let  go  my 
hand." 

Morris  Caplan  became  determined.  When  a  man  feels 
that  the  step  he  has  taken  is  too  daring,  he  cannot  bear 
to  find  his  opinion  corroborated.  Minnie  was  an  Ameri- 
can lady,  who  probably,  like  the  rest,  dubbed  him  "kike." 
He  gripped  her  hand  harder  and  leaned  over. 

"You  mane  you  are  in  love  wid  det  Ratkin  feller?" 

"No,  of  course  not.  You  are  hurting  me.  What  in 
the  world  is  the  matter  with  you?  Please  let  go  my 
hand." 

Minnie's  unfailing  friendliness,  Morris  Caplan  now 
felt,  had  given  him  the  right  to  feel  encouraged.  Had  her 
friendliness  been  hypocritical  ?  Had  she  planned  to  make 
a  fool  of  him? 

"Oh,  here  comes  somebody.     Let  go  my  hand." 

He  relaxed  his  hold.    Minnie  jumped  up  and  ran. 

Morris  Caplan  was  stunned.  Then  he  rose  and  started 
in  pursuit,  but  Minnie  was  already  at  the  park  entrance. 
There  was  no  use  trying  to  overtake  her. 

So  the  girl  had  made  a  fool  of  him!  The  impudent 
infant!  He  was  furious — like  a  teased  animal.  .  He 


396  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

spat  upon  the  pavement.  .  .  .  "She's  a  young  fool,"  he 
thought.  "What  do  /  care!"  .  .  .  But  Minnie's  great, 
gray  eyes  danced  upon  his  senses,  her  gay  laugh,  her 
soft,  fetching  manner.  He  sank  down  on  the  bench.  He 
loved  the  little  girl.  What  a  foolish  child!  He  had 
money  to  burn;  he  would  be  so  good  to  her,  he  would 
carry  her  about  in  his  arms  to  save  her  footsteps.  If 
only  she  had  some  sense!  What  would  a  Yankee  feller 
do  for  her?  Find  fault.  She  had  an  example  in  that 
Ratkin  feller,  who  plagued  her  to  make  herself  over. 
What  fools  young  girls  were  not  to  see  who  would  make 
them  good  husbands.  He  himself  would  always  feel  that 
he  had  drawn  a  prize — cherish  her — shield  her.  What- 
ever she  did  would  be  golden  in  his  eyes. 

Morris  Caplan's  soul  stretched  out  its  arms  to  her 
while  Minnie,  muttering  to  herself  in  astonishment :  "He 
really  meant  it,  he  really  meant  it!"  and,  laughing  hys- 
terically, ran  faster  and  faster  toward  the  wings  of  the 
Alpha  Home  for  Working  Girls. 

XLII 

"I  wish  he  asked  me.  You  may  bet  I'd  marry  him 
even  if  he  is  a  kike.  You  fool,  he  has  money.  You've 
forgotten  already  how  we  used  to  live  when  we  were 
poor.  Money  is  a  mighty  good  friend." 

The  propounder  of  this  cynical  philosophy  was  Ida.  It 
was  the  night  after  the  two  proposals  and  after  Minnie's 
first  day  of  work  at  the  Settlement.  She  and  Ida  and 
Beckie  were  out  walking  together.  Excited  by  the  new 
work,  fagged  out  by  a  sleepless  night  following  upon  the 
strange  happenings  of  the  day  before,  with  her  heart 
full  to  the  brim,  she  had  taken  the  girls  into  her  confi- 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  397 

dence.  Where  else  had  she  to  turn  ?  Miss  Liebman  was 
busy  with  her  own  friends,  and  it  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion to  tell  Amelia. 

Beckie,  conjuring  up  delightful  pictures  of  a  married 
sister  living  maybe  on  Riverside  Drive,  chimed  in  with 
her  advice: 

"I  think  you  ought  to  grab  him.  You  get  used  to  a 
man." 

Minnie  felt  she  was  in  the  presence  of  infinitely  wise 
people  and  silently  marvelled  at  them.  That  marriage 
was  a  way  out  had  never  occurred  to  her;  in  books  and 
in  her  own  imagination  marriage  was  a  mating  of  love. 

"You  ought  to  see  mama,  how  she  looks.  She  looks 
dreadful.  All  on  account  of  the  rotten  bands.  Bands 
don't  sell  now,  so  she  worries  herself  to  a  skeleton.  But 
if  she  had  married  a  rich  man  instead  of  that  habe  nichts 
(have  nothing)  of  a  Leopold,  we  would  all  of  us  be  bet- 
ter off  now — she,  too."  Ida,  though  bitterly  resentful, 
was  genuinely  distressed  about  her  mother.  Flat  hats 
had  persisted,  and  the  bands  business  had  continued  to 
deteriorate.  Ida  had  experienced  her  first  shock  when 
her  mother  announced  that  she  and  Beckie  must  each 
contribute  two  dollars  a  week  more  from  their  salaries 
to  the  home.  By  their  mother's  efforts  Ida  had  been 
taught  stenography  and  Beckie  had  procured  a  good  po- 
sition as  saleslady.  It  was  not  until  Sarah  had  been 
drawing  heavily  from  the  bank  for  several  months  that 
she  resorted  to  this  radical  step.  "Not,  God  forbid," 
she  solemnly  vowed,  "that  ever  in  my  life  I  will  take 
one  cent  from  them  for  my  own  support.  But  themselves 
it  is  time  they  supported." 

Ida  was  feeling  the  sting  of  poverty.  With  a  weak- 
ness for  pretty  clothes,  eight  dollars  a  week,  reduced  by 


398  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

five  for  mere  food  and  shelter,  put  her  in  a  mood  for  the 
practical  appreciation  of  a  rich  "kike." 

Ida's  description  of  her  mother's  condition  went  to 
Minnie's  heart.  The  image  of  the  mother  of  Henry 
Street,  toiling  and  harassed,  blotted  out  the  image  of  the 
wife  of  Leopold  who  had  neglected  to  visit  the  sick 
daughter  at  a  charity  institution. 

"Of  course,  I  don't  say  anything  about  Mr.  Maloney," 
Ida  continued.  "He's  a  gentile.  But  Morris  Caplan  is 
a  Jew.  If  you've  got  all  your  life  to  teach  him  in,  he'll 
have  time  to  learn  to  say  'truth'  instead  of  'throot.'  Such 
men  make  the  best  husbands." 

"But  I  don't  love  him,"  Minnie  ventured  weakly. 

"Nu — and  if  you  don't?"     Ida  pooh-poohed. 

Ida's  vulgar  certainty  undermined  Minnie's  confidence 
in  her  own  feelings.  She  made  no  retort.  Was  Ida 
right,  were  love  marriages  a  mere  vagary  of  literature? 
And  because  Mr.  Maloney  was  a  gentile — was  that  the 
only  reason  she  ought  not  to  consider  him? 

The  girls'  visit  left  Minnie  more  upset  than  ever. 
She  was  sorry  she  had  taken  them  into  her  confidence. 
All  she  had  achieved  was  a  shaken  belief  in  herself — 
perhaps  she  was  sentimental — and  contempt  of  Ida's  vul- 
gar practicalness. 

XLIII 

The  rolling  gentlemen's  voices  and  the  warbling 
women's  voices  of  the  Academy  Settlement  House  were 
to  Minnie  reverberations  from  a  background  of  awe-in- 
spiring culture.  Self-confidence,  never  a  staunch  ally  of 
hers,  now  beat  a  complete  retreat.  She  felt  like  a  com- 
mon house-fly  that  has  strayed  into  a  king's  palace  to 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  399 

find  that  not  another  insect  has  had  the  same  audacity. 
She  walked  about  on  tiptoe  and  spoke  in  whispers,  all  the 
while  despising  herself  and  fighting  desperately  to  over- 
come her  timidity  and  assume  a  natural  manner.  There 
were  moments  when  she  would  shed  a  tear  of  homesick- 
ness for  the  genial  Maloney  place. 

The  third  day  a  young  man  of  breezy  western  man- 
ner, of  a  full,  resonant  voice,  and  of  the  unpromising 
name  of  Grave,  appeared  upon  the  scene  and  dispelled 
the  clouds. 

"This  is  Miss  Mendel,  is  it?"  he  brawled. 

Minnie,  blushing,  rose  from  her  seat. 

"Yes,"  she  said  with  a  puzzled  look,  and  stood  shyly 
expectant  of  an  explanation. 

Mr.  Grave  danced  his  deep  blue  eyes  over  her  face 
and  laughed  pleasantly. 

"Well,  now,  I'm  Mr.  Grave,  one  of  the  fourteen  resi- 
dent club  directors  of  this  Arcadia,  and  I  have  come  to 
you,  the  guardian  angel  of  the  world's  elixir — money — to 
cash  a  fifty-dollar  check." 

Minnie  laughed  a  modulated  giggle,  blushed  a  trifle 
deeper,  inclined  her  head  to  one  side,  and  replied,  her 
gray  eyes  sparkling: 

"I  am  here  to  serve  you  now  and  always  gladly,  fair 
sir."  She  looked  up  at  his  shock  of  blond  hair  and  moved 
to  the  safe  in  the  corner  of  the  office.  Mr.  Grave's  jolly 
glance  followed  her.  Stooping  to  open  the  combination, 
she  looked  up  and  their  eyes  met.  They  laughed. 

"She's  a  bully  sort,"  went  through  Mr.  Grave's  mind. 

"What  a  nice  man !"  went  through  Minnie's  mind. 

He  bowed  graciously  and  thanked  her  cordially  for  the 
cash. 

"I  know  a  man,"  said  Minnie,  "who  would  say  'danks 


400  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

a  toy  send  times.' "  Mr.  Grave's  laugh  covered  a  full 
scale  of  notes. 

His  carriage  as  he  walked  out  of  the  office  recalled 
someone  in  the  past  to  Minnie.  She  spent  a  few  moments 
wondering  who  it  could  be. 

The  little  encounter  colored  her  whole  day.  Every 
now  and  then  she  found  herself  hoping  Mr.  Grave  would 
come  in  again  and  assuring  herself  he  would.  The  pros- 
pect buoyed  her. 

The  air  as  she  walked  home  seemed  to  have  a  fresher 
tang.  It  was  well  after  all,  she  rejoiced,  that  she  had 
left  John  Maloney's  place.  What  was  the  use  of  the 
same  old  thing  day  after  day?  New  experiences  added 
vividness  to  life.  She  was  glad  she  had  made  the  change. 
Abraham  Ratkin  had  certainly  been  wrong  when  he  said 
that  she  would  meet  with  the  same  trials  at  the  settlement 
as  at  the  Charities.  The  settlement,  though  a  philan- 
thropy, was  of  a  different  character ;  people  did  not  come 
there  to  cry;  they  came  to  amuse  themselves,  to  dance, 
to  sit  around  and  to  have  fun.  And  it  had  the  advantage 
of  a  far  more  cultured  environment  than  the  John  Ma- 
loney  Paper  Box  Company.  All  seemed  well  with  the 
world  to  Minnie. 

Mr.  Grave  came  again  the  next  day  for  a  pencil,  the 
day  after  for  a  friendly  word  or  two,  which  kept  him 
with  Minnie  for  fully  fifteen  minutes;  then  he  came  in 
for  a  telephone  number,  which  detained  Minnie  fully  ten 
minutes  after  closing  hour.  Out  of  appreciation  he  asked 
to  be  allowed  to  see  her  to  the  street  car. 

Walking  beside  Mr.  Grave,  talking,  laughing  with'  him 
as  if  he  were  a  mere  man  instead  of  a  god,  transported 
Minnie  to  a  world  of  unreality.  His  voice  sounded  in 
her  ears  like  exhilarating  music ;  her  own  person  seemed 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  401 

a  dream  afloat.    By  the  time  he  left  her  she  was  tingling 
with  excitement. 

Thenceforth  Mr.  Grave  paid  daily  calls.  He  seemed 
to  Minnie  the  perfect  man,  of  incomparable  manners. 
And  in  spite  of  his  perfection,  he  looked  upon  her,  ap- 
parently,^ someone  from  whom  he  could  learn.  Often 
he  laughed  over  what  she  said  and  called  her  a  bright 
little  girl.  She  was  intensely  grateful.  Praise  was  novel. 
Morris  Caplan's  admiration,  because  it  was  evoked  by 
the  things  concerning  which  she  herself  felt  confident, 
had  affected  her  differently.  Her  very  name  pronounced 
at  the  Settlement — Miss  Mendel — sounded  fine  and  dig- 
nified. She  became  less  of  a  nobody  to  herself.  And  as 
her  timidity  fell  away,  her  efficiency  increased.  Every- 
body came  to  Dr.  Evangel's  secretary  with  the  assurance 
tfiat  what  was  asked  of  her  would  be  properly  attended 
.to.  Soon  she  became  a  person  of  standing  at  the  Set- 
tlement. 

XLIV 

Minnie  was  conscious  of  a  joy  in  living.  The  days 
with  their  whirl  of  interesting  activities  and  the  evenings 
with  their  comparative  comfort  at  the  Alpha  Home  were 
a  song ;  Mr.  Grave  was  the  sweet  refrain.  Life  became  a 
pleasurable  adventure  with  all  sorts  of  thrilling  possibili- 
ties. Something  interesting  might  happen  any  moment 
— when  the  door-bell  at  the  Alpha  Home  sounded,  or  the 
telephone  at  the  Settlement  rang,  or  a  knock  came  at  the 
office  door.  Minnie  was  young.  She  had  never  been 
young  before. 

The  happiness  she  got  from  roaming  among  dreams 
and  fancies  woven  from  the  experiences  of  the  day  often 


402  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

drew  her  out  evenings  for  long  walks  by  herself.  Be- 
sides, she  now  enjoyed  the  life  of  the  streets.  A  sense 
of  kinship  for  all  these  men  and  women  colored  their 
doings  with  a  new  interest.  Some  instinct  told  her  they, 
too,  had  their  dreams.  Her  step  was  buoyant,  her  eyes 
eager. 

One  evening  her  attention  was  drawn  by  a  crowd  »on 
a  side  street  just  off  a  main  avenue,  and  she  heard  a 
man's  voice  above  the  rattle  of  vehicles,  clear,  strong, 
vibrant.  It  came  from  an  orator  mounted  on  an  im- 
provised platform  with  his  back  against  a  large  banner 
displaying  the  emblem  of  the  arm  and  torch. 

"Much  is  said  about  the  sacredness  of  life,  but  we 
stow  human  beings  away  in  East  Side  hovels  to  breed 
disease,  to  suffer  and  decay " 

The  orator's  voice  sounded  like  Mr.  Grave's ! 

"Much  is  said  about  the  sacredness  of  parenthood,  yet 
we  send  the  father  to  the  sweat  shop  and  let  him  out  when 
he  is  too  exhausted  to  think  of  anything  beside  'his 
wretched  cot  for  rest " 

Strange  that  his  voice  should  sound  so  much  like  Mr. 
Grave's !  Minnie  recalled  that  at  their  first  meeting  Mr. 
Grave  had  evoked  something  reminiscential  in  her.  She 
peered  at  the  speaker  but  his  face  was  partly  in  shadow 
and  she  could  not  make  out  his  features. 

"Much  is  said  about  the  divinity  of  motherhood,  yet 
we  send  mothers  to  other  people's  houses  to  wash  and 
scrub  and  back  to  the  reeking  tenement,  wretched  and 
aching,  to  bestow  a  lick  and  a  promise  upon  her  own 
babies.  .  .  . 

His  words,  sincere  and  sympathetic,  which  seemed  so 
to  apply  to  her  family's  life,  sent  a  queer  little  chill  down 
Minnie's  spine.  And  his  voice  and  the  lift  of  his  shoul- 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  403 

ders  were  so  like  Mr.  Grave's !  Now  he  took  a  step 
backward — his  face  fell  in  full  light — Gregory  Chernin! 
That's  who  it  was !  Their  eyes  met.  He  seemed  to  see 
the  excitement  in  hers  and  smiled  down  upon  her.  His 
smile  seemed  to  ask  that  she  wait  until  his  speech  was 
over,  to  say  that  he  would  join  her  presently.  She  found 
herself  nodding  and  smiling  back,  feeling  a  happy  peace. 

"In  the  mills  and  the  mines  we  crush  our  babies  whom 
we  liken  to  birds  and  flowers,  crush  them  before  they 
have  a  chance  to  open  their  petals.  Then  with  well-serv- 
ing stupidity  we  screw  up  our  foreheads  in  perplexity  and 
make  a  scientific  study  of  why  homes  are  broken  up,  why 
men  desert  wives,  why  there  need  be  children's  peniten- 
tiaries, why  there  is  insanity,  theft  and  murder.  We 
avert  our  eyes  from  the  uncomfortable  truth " 

Had  she  been  able  to  put  her  thoughts  into  words,  she 
would  have  said  just  that.  It  seemed  incredible  to  Min- 
nie that  there  was  another  human  being  who  thought  so 
exactly  as  she  did.  She  had  believed  herself  to  be  alone 
in  her  philosophy,  freakish,  eccentric.  She  felt  peculiarly 
jubilant. 

"We  reduce  a  man  to  the  level  of  a  dog  and  then  we 
hang  him  because  he  does  not  behave  like  a  man." 

The  audience  laughed  and  clapped.  Minnie  was  suf- 
fused with  the  pride  that  one  takes  in  the  successes  of 
a  blood  relation. 

Gregory,  who  seemed  to  be  only  the  introductory 
speaker,  was  soon  shaking  hands  heartily  with  her  on  the 
sidewalk,  and  inviting  her  to  come  with  him  to  a  nearby 
restaurant,  as  he  had  not  yet  supped.  She  was  keenly 
and  pleasurably  conscious  that  he  was  glad  to  see  her. 

At  table  she  allowed  herself  a  full  look  at  her  tall, 
manly  companion.  His  face  was  altered  from  the  col- 


404  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

lege  lad's  of  her  gaming  days,  and  yet  it  was  what  Min- 
nie felt  she  would  somehow  have  expected.  It  was  thin, 
pale,  and  worn.  His  brown  shock  of  hair  was  a  little 
thinner.  His  eyes  were  Olga's,  large  and  brown,  with 
her  love  of  humanity  shining  in  them  and  an  added  touch 
of  reflectiveness  and  also  of  humor.  He  looked  like  one, 
Minnie  felt,  of  whom  big  things  were  to  be  expected. 
But  for  his  cordial  smile,  she  might  have  felt  self-con- 
scious at  being  in  the  presence  of  someone  obviously  her 
superior  in  learning  and  breeding.  As  it  was,  she  was 
experiencing  peace,  a  happy  peace,  different  from  the 
turbulent,  agitating  happiness  of  her  association  with 
Mr.  Grave. 

The  waiter  came  for  the  order. 

"You'll  have  something  to  eat,  too,"  Gregory  urged. 

His  courtesy  was  delicious — like  Mr.  Grave's. 

The  waiter  disappeared  with  their  orders. 

Gregory  settled  himself  in  an  easy  posture,  with  his 
elbows  on  the  table  and  his  hands  clasped,  his  eyes  rest- 
ing on  Minnie's  face.  He  began  gravely : 

"You  were  on  my  mother's  conscience.  But  it  is  quite 
apparent  she  had  no  cause  to  worry." 

At  this  blunt  reference  to  a  disreputable  past,  which 
Minnie  had  flung  behind  her  as  Sarah  had  her  poverty, 
she  flushed,  looked  up  hastily,  on  the  verge  of  annoy- 
ance. She  met  a  frank,  disarming  gaze.  Gregory  seemed 
wholesomely  detached  from  that  past  of  which  he  had 
as  much  cause  to  be  ashamed  as  she.  She  felt  somehow 
assured  that  his  and  not  hers  was  the  proper  attitude ; 
that  his  was  the  bigger  attitude,  the  impersonal  one.  She 
dropped  her  eyes. 

"How  is  your  mother?"  she  asked. 

"She's  dead,"  Gregory  answered  simply. 

"Oh!"  Minnie  exclaimed,  experiencing  the  horrifying 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  405 

sense  of  an  adult's  first  contact  with  death.  After  a 
pause,  she  asked: 

"And  your  father?" 

"He  died  too — first.    Mother  died  of  the  same  illness." 

Minnie  caught  the  deep  feeling  beneath  the  simplicity 
of  his  utterance. 

"But  tell  me  about  yourself,"  he  added. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  dimmed  eyes.  His  pallor 
and  thinness  connected  itself  painfully  in  her  heart  with 
his  parents.  A  tender  feeling  rose  in  her  for  Gregory, 
a  feeling  of  closeness  to  him. 

"I  have  had  lots  of  experience,"  she  said,  half  smiling, 
half  weeping,  "but  you  know  how  it  is  with  experiences ; 
they  loom  large  to  those  who  go  through  them,  but  in  the 
telling  they  seem  small  enough." 

"Tell  me  anyway,"  he  said,  his  voice  and  manner  so 
gentle  that  Minnie  felt  herself  expanding  toward  him. 

She  told  him  everything,  even  of  her  engagement  to 
Louis  "the  paintner."  Neither  her  mind  nor  her  will 
seemed  to  have  anything  to  do  with  her  frank  outpour- 
ing. It  was  as  if  the  impulse  came  from  Gregory.  With 
a  little  smile  she  ended :  "And  now  I'm  well  and  happy." 

Gregory  stroked  his  chin  and  looked  into  space,  then 
turned  his  eyes  on  her  gently. 

"You  have  had  lots  of  experiences.  They  do  not 
seem  little."  He  was  silent  a  moment  and  then  added 
warmly :  "You  have  outwitted  the  evil  fate  we  all  feared 
was  in  store  for  you." 

Minnie  felt  with  a  thrill  the  commendation  implied  in 
his  words  and  tone,  the  recognition  that  she  had  strug- 
gled and  achieved ;  and  by  contrast  the  eternally  fault- 
finding Abraham  came  to  her  mind.  Quickly  she  made 
mental  comparison  of  his  dry  presentation  of  Socialism 
with  Gregory's  warm-hearted  speech.  She  said: 


406  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"It  was  something  so  new  to  me — your  way  of  pre- 
senting Socialism.  I  always  think  that  way  about  life, 
but  I  have  a  friend  who  tells  me  it  is  too  formless,  too" 
— she  ruffled  her  forehead — "too  hysterical.  He  wants 
me  to  read  Value,  Price  and  Profit " 

Gregory  laughed  a  short,  hearty  laugh.  An  exquisite 
joy  shot  through  Minnie's  heart.  He  laughed  exactly 
like  Mr.  Grave!  A  fine,  thin  note  of  adoration  made 
music  in  her  soul. 

"Your  friend  must  be  a  pedant,"  said  Gregory. 

Aha !  A  pedant !  That's  what  Abraham  was.  Greg- 
ory had  summed  him  up  for  her.  How  well  Gregory 
understood  everything !  How  nice  it  was  to  talk  to  some- 
one who  understood !  It  seemed  to  make  one's  thoughts 
come  easier.  How  nice  it  would  be  to  have  him  for  a 
friend.  Where  was  he  living,  what  was  he  doing? 

"I  told  you,"  she  said,  "all  about  myself.  I  think  I 
deserve  that  you  tell  me  about  yourself.  I  suppose" — 
her  voice  and  look  were  full  of  sympathy — "that  being 
without  a  home  you  have  had  to  knock  about  a  whole  lot. 
Tfiat's  so  hard." 

Gregory  gave  her  a  look  of  appreciation  for  her  com- 
passionate insight. 

His  tale  was  simple.  After  graduating  from  college 
he  taught  for  some  time,  then,  finding  that  he  was 
cramped  by  the  conditions  imposed  upon  the  public  school 
teachers,  he  gave  up  the  profession  to  become  a  propa- 
gandist for  the  Socialist  Party. 

It  was  time  to  leave.  As  Minnie  watched  Gregory 
settle  with  the  waiter  in  a  smiling  way  that  reminded  her 
of  Mr.  Grave  again,  she  was  moved  by  a  girlish  ebul- 
lition to  discuss  with  this  new-old  friend  who  "under- 
stood" a  question  that  had  occupied  her  and  Mr.  Grave 
in  the  afternoon. 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  407 

"Do  you  think,"  she  began  as  soon  as  they  were  on  the 
street,  "that  happiness  comes  altogether  from  within? 
Don't  be  surprised,"  she  smiled,  "at  my  question  out  of  a 
clear  sky ;  but  I  started  out  on  a  walk  this  evening  espe- 
cially to  think  about  it  when  your  audience  attracted  me, 
and  you've  captivated  my  thoughts  ever  since." 

Gregory  smiled  and  reflected. 

"Well,  happiness,  I  suppose,  does  come  from  within, 
but  only  if  the  external  possibilities  for  happiness  exist. 
For  instance,  no  amount  of  the  'within'  will  make  a  man 
happy  if  he  is  forced  to  keep  his  toe  on  a  red-hot  stove." 

Minnie  laughed  delightedly.  Here  were  her  own  feel- 
ings exactly  expressed;  here  was  her  answer  to  Mr. 
Grave,  whose  whole  life  had  been  smooth  sailing  and 
who  had  insisted  that  happiness  is  entirely  a  matter  of 
"within." 

At  the  door  of  the  Alpha  Home  Minnie  was  seized  un- 
accountably by  a  panicky  feeling.  Would  Gregory  say  he 
would  come  to  see  her,,  or  ought  she  ask  him  to? 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  said  as  if  in  answer  to  her 
thoughts : 

"I  am  afraid  I  cannot  see  you  soon  again.  To-morrow 
I  leave  on  a  speaking  tour  of  the  New  England  States. 
I'm  awfully  sorry."  He  shook  hands  with  her. 

For  a  moment  she  felt  terribly  forsaken.  But  Mr. 
Grave — she  would  see  him  in  the  morning.  She  felt  light- 
hearted  again. 

But  as  she  made  her  way  upstairs  a  vague  emptiness 
pervaded  her  soul,  a  tearfulness,  a  low-burning  disap- 
pointment. 

XLV 

A  modest  man  retains  his  modesty  until  the  thing  of 
which  he  deemed  himself  undeserving  is  actually  denied 


408  SARAH  AND.  HER  DAUGHTER 

him,  then  he  sees  no  reason  under  the  sun  why  he  should 
not  possess  it.  So  it  was  with  Morris  Caplan. 

The  morning  after  Minnie's  odd  behavior,  he  awoke, 
metaphorically  speaking,  with  a  dark  brown  taste  in  his 
mouth.  Everything  was  wrong  with  the  world.  He  was 
suffering,  not  from  the  sweet  melancholia  that  the  poets 
would  have  us  believe  goes  hand  in  hand  with  a  love  dis- 
appointment, but  from  an  irritability  that  turned  every- 
thing around  him  black.  A  slip  of  a  girl,  a  waif  in  a 
working  girl's  home  had  made  a  fool  of  him.  He  spat 
out  shreds  of  tobacco  with  unwonted  vehemence. 

In  the  course  of  the  day,  however,  his  mood  changed : 
he  entered  a  demurrer  against  fate.  Why  should  he  live 
always  in  a  boarding-house  and  eat  in  restaurants  ?  Why 
should  he  make  money  for  nobody  ? 

When  the  summons  came,  Minnie  was  in  her  room  en- 
gaged in  delightful  reveries  of  a  sprightly  half -hour's 
confab  that  day  with  Mr.  Grave.  She  had  been  surprised 
to  find  that  he  did  not  remind  her  so  much  of  Gregory  as 
Gregory  had,  the  night  before,  reminded  her  of  him. 
Even  their  voices  had  now  a  dissimilar  ring ;  the  bantering 
quality  was  absent  from  Gregory's  tone.  By  the  end  of 
the  half-hour  Mr.  Grave  had  somehow  seemed  to  rele- 
gate Gregory  to  a  dream-world  in  Minnie's  mind.  Her 
meeting  with  him  sank  suddenly  into  a  shadowy  past, 
while  Mr.  Grave  remained  vividly  present,  a  substantial 
reality  of  her  daily  life. 

In  the  Alpha  Home  for  Working  Girls,  no  such  formal 
procedure  was  observed  as  the  announcing  of  a  visitor's 
name.  Minnie  went  downstairs  wondering  who  the  man 
could  be  who  had  asked  to  see  her.  Abraham  Ratkin, 
possibly.  But  she  was  not  expecting  him  until  Sunday. 
What  could  be  bringing  him  so  soon  again?  She  wished 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  409 

he  would  not  come  so  unceremoniously,  as  if  she  had  al- 
ways to  be  at  his  disposal. 

At  sight  of  Morris  Caplan  she  was  greatly  disconcerted. 
She  flushed,  hung  her  head,  and  stammered  a  greeting. 

He,  too,  had  the  earmarks  of  one  not  precisely  at  ease. 

They  seated  themselves.  Did  Mr.  Caplan  want  to  see 
Amelia  perhaps  ?  He  frowned  and  answered  impatiently 
that  she  knew  very  well  he  did  not  want  to  see  Amelia. 
How  should  she  know,  she  demanded,  while  her  mind 
went  round  in  a  whirl — had  he  actually  meant  that  night's 
proposal,  had  he  actually  meant  it?  In  the  excitement  of 
other  things,  she  had  more  or  less  dismissed  it  from  her 
mind,  as  much  as  any  girl  can  dismiss  a  proposal  of  mar- 
riage from  her  mind. 

Morris  Caplan  was  determined  upon  having  no  non- 
sense this  evening;  he  would  not  take  "no"  for  an  an- 
swer. Moreover,  he  would  not  go  out  where  there  was 
the  whole  wide  world  for  her  to  escape  to,  but  would 
keep  her  right  there  in  the  sitting-room,  where  in  the 
bright  light  she  had  to  look  him  straight  in  the  eye  and  say 
definitely  that  she  would  marry  him — when — and  so  on. 

His  heart  fluttered  as  his  mind  strutted. 

"Now,  then,  Mees  Mendel,"  he  began,  "I  meant  what 
I  said  last  night,  and  you  did  a  most  insulting  thing  to 
run  away  from  me  as  if  I  insulted  you."  He  went  on, 
in  what  struck  Minnie  as  a  disgustingly  dictatorial  man- 
ner, to  tell  her  it  was  her  duty  to  give  and  his  privilege 
to  have  an  answer,  a  direct,  truthful  answer  (Minnie 
noted  with  a  little  shiver  coursing  along  her  spine  that 
he  said  "throotful"  and  "answear"),  and  considering  his 
position — a  very  successful  real  estate  dealer — it  would 
behoove  a  poor  girl  without  a  home  or  a  family  to  think 
seriously  about  it. 


4io  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Poor  Morris  Caplan,  he  only  succeeded  in  disgusting 
Minnie,  to  whom  it  was  not  apparent  that  he  was  making 
a  desperate  effort  to  keep  his  courage  from  oozing  away, 
or  that  his  heavy  gold  watch  chain  rose  and  fell  with  his 
labored  heavings,  or  that  the  pulse  of  his  neck  was  throb- 
bing under  his  too  roomy  collar.  His  nerve !  a  kike !  even 
Mr.  Maloney  had  spoken  more  respectfully,  more  as  if 
he  were  asking  something  of  her  than  as  if  he  were  do- 
ing, her  a  favor.  His  nasty  money !  He  spoke  like  an 
onion  grater !  Ida  would  have  him — why  did  he  not  pro- 
pose to  her  ?  Poor  Amelia !  She  was  in  love  with  him. 
Served  Amelia  right — for  loving  such  a  dub.  Such  a 
dub!  how  could  anyone  love  him!  Yet  he  was  a  good- 
hearted  person.  And  how  he  used  to  laugh  at  her  friski- 
ness!  Why  could  it  not  have  continued?  Now  an  end 
of  him — an  end  of  lessons.  He  was  taking  advantage 
of  her.  Because  she  gave  him  lessons  he  thought  she 
was  in  love  with  him.  If  he  touched  her  she  would  die. 
Think  of  kissing  him — on  the  lips,  his  thick  lips — his  red 
face,  his  paunch — almost  like  the  landlord's  they  used 
to  have  on  Henry  Street.  Maybe  he  really  owned  those 
twin  tenements  on  Henry  Street.  The  blood  and  the 
flesh  of  the  people  there  now,  went  to  stuff  his  belly. 

"Do  you  own  any  houses  on  Henry  Street  ?" 

This  resembled  the  questions  that  Morris  Caplan's 
gayer,  more  precocious  young  American  lady  friends 
would  ask  him  preparatory  to  looking  him  up  in  Brad- 
street.  A  little  resentment  and  disappointment  shot  like 
pebbles  through  his  heart. 

"Nu,  and  if  I  have?"    He  sat  alert. 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  seeing  his  en- 
trails actually  stuffed  with  the  marrow  of  other  people. 
She  groaned. 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  411 

Morris  Caplan  was  startled.  He  leaned  forward  to 
take  her  hands  away  from  her  eyes.  She  edged  away 
and  dropped  her  hands,  and  an  expression  of  indisputable 
resolution  came  into  her  face  and  voice  as  she  said : 

"Mr.  Caplan,  I  do  not  want  to  marry  you.  I  never 
will.  Please  leave  me  alone.  I  never  want  to  hear  you 
ask  me  again.'*  He  made  a  swift  move  in  his  chair  as 
if  to  contradict  her,  but  she  added  more  emphatically: 
"Now,  I  never  want  to  see  you  again  if  you  don't  throw 
that  rubbish  out  of  your  head.  I  won't  marry  you. 
There  now !"  The  last,  feeling  herself  overcome  by  im- 
potence, she  flung  out  as  though  to  spite  him,  like  a 
child. 

Morris  Caplan  flushed.  He  was  angry  with  her.  At 
the  same  time  he  was  angry  with  himself  for  wanting 
her  when  she  refused  him  so  emphatically.  As  though 
charging  her  with  not  having  carried  through  a  business 
deal  fairly,  he  told  her  he  had  no  intention  of  being  cut 
off  from  further  chances  of  winning  her.  He  was  go- 
ing to  see  her  again,  and  again;  he  would  make  her 
marry  him.  It  was  his  policy  never  to  take  "no"  for  an 
answer. 

Minnie  rose,  telling  him,  in  her  turn,  that  she  supposed 
she  had  something  to  say  in  the  matter,  too,  and  choking 
with  impotence,  strutted  out  of  the  room. 

And  Morris  Caplan  was  left  with  a  quarrel  on  his 
hands,  a  void  in  his  heart,  and  a  consciousness  of  the 
asinity  of  his  behavior.  Nevertheless  he  resented  this 
slip  of  a  girl  in  a  working  girls'  home.  What  in  the 
world  did  he  want  her  for,  as  if  there  were  not  dozens  of 
other  girls  prettier,  from  nice  homes,  who  would  be 
mighty  glad  to  have  him.  Indeed,  he  would  not  come  to 
see  her  again.  She  could  go  to—  But  how  could  he 


412  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

send  her  there  when  he  wanted — wanted  her  so  badly  in 

his  arms  ? 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

In  the  flush  of  her  indignation  Minnie  went  straight 
to  Amelia's  room  and  emptied  her  whole  heart  into  the 
other's  lap,  having  had  it  on  her  mind,  in  any  event,  that 
Amelia  ought  to  know  where  Morris  Caplan's  affections 
had  strayed.  She  told  Amelia  everything,  ending  with : 
"Now  you  mustn't  blame  me,  Amelia,  it's  not  my  fault 
if  he  is  crazy  enough  to  care  for  me.  I  always  tried  to 
throw  you  two  together.  It  makes  me  sick  how  every- 
thing always  comes  out  upsidedown — and  I  hate  him  any- 
way. He  had  no  right  to  propose  to  me." 

Had  it  not  been  for  Minnie's  very  attitude  of  defen- 
sive, Amelia's  suspicions  might  not  have  been  aroused. 
Watching  Minnie  closely,  she  became  convinced  that  Min- 
nie was  masking  the  truth.  Why  should  Minnie  be  so 
indignant  about  the  proposal  ?  Why,  indeed,  but  to  throw 
her,  Amelia,  off  the  track,  so  that  later,  she,  Minnie, 
could  say  that  she  had  not  wanted  to  accept  Morris — 
did  not  Amelia  remember  ? — but  that  he  had  insisted.  .  .  . 
Amelia  sighed  sarcastically,  donned  her  wisest  expression, 
shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  with  assumed  nonchalance, 
though  her  heart  beat  a  tattoo,  told  Minnie  she  need  not 
go  to  all  the  trouble  of  masquerading.  For  her  part,  she 
knew  how  to  get  along  without  things;  she  had  had  to 
get  along  without  enough  in  her  life,  and  her  character 
was  not  so  weak  that  she  did  not  know  how,  like  a  good 
sport,  to  hand  a  man  over  to  a  friend. 

No  expression  can  be  given  to  the  multitude  of  emo- 
tions that  swept  into  poor  Minnie's  heart  and  soul  as  the 
wise,  large-minded  Amelia  delivered  her  small  sermon. 
She  felt  herself  being  dragged  through  purgatory,  taking 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  413 

on  herself  the  odor  of  decomposition,  growing  sick,  faint. 

When  she  reached  her  own  room  she  fell  on  her  bed  in 
a  heap.  Amelia's  words  and  Morris  Caplan's  words 
hummed  and  buzzed  in  her  head.  She  felt  like  a  stranger 
to  herself.  A  sickening  aversion  for  the  Alpha  Home 
came  upon  her,  as  if  sewage  had  suddenly  been  exposed 
in  it.  She  turned  from  one  side  to  the  other  in  poisoned 
restlessness.  Her  fingertips  began  to  sting  and  her  head 
to  ache. 

The  following  morning  she  was  too  ill  to  go  to  work 
and  had  to  keep  her  bed. 

XLVI 

On  Sunday,  in  accordance  with  his  promise  and  plans, 
Abraham  Ratkin  came  to  call  on  Minnie.  He  was 
shocked  to  see  how  pale  and  worn  she  looked.  All  his 
paternal  self  was  roused  to  protectiveness.  That  work — 
that  work  in  the  charity  place!  Hadn't  he  told  her  it 
would  have  an  ill  effect,  first  upon  her  body,  then,  as  a 
result,  upon  her  nerves  and  her  spirits  ?  She  would  soon 
be  taking  people  to  task  again  and  having  to-dos.  Why, 
why,  couldn't  she  be  amenable  to  sane  advice? 

To  prove  that  his  prediction  of  troubles  ahead  was 
false,  Minnie  blurted  out  the  tale  of  the  week's  excite- 
ments, concluding  with  her  usual  "There  now!"  They 
had  the  sitting-room  to  themselves,  and  they  could  talk 
freely. 

Abraham  felt  himself  jerked  into  an  undreamed-of, 
startling  reality,  in  which,  for  self-protection,  his  soul 
drew  closer  to  the  decision  that  it  was  time  for  him  to 
tell  Minnie  of  his  love  and  ask  her  to  become  engaged  to 
him.  He  would  promise,  he  rehearsed  mentally,  that  dur- 


414  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

ing  their  engagement  he  would  devote  himself  to  her  as 
her  counsellor,  guide,  and  good  close  friend — and  then 
they  would  marry. 

"You  see,  Minnie,  I  told  you  long  ago  you  ought  to 
drop  Mr.  Caplan's  lessons.  You  should  have  taken  my 
advice."  Abraham  spoke,  not  in  his  old  scolding  way, 
but  in  a  tender  tone  of  loving  admonition. 

"Yes,  but  not  because  of  that.  You  only  thought  I 
would  have  more  time  to  read." 

Abraham  blinked. 

"That,  too,"  he  said,  "but  I  could  not  take  the  liberty 
of  telling  you  so  plainly." 

They  lapsed  into  meditation. 

"I  wonder  when  we'll  be  married,"  Abraham  mused. 

It  sounded  like  a  clock  suddenly  beginning  to  tick — 
the  one-legged  clock  on  the  shelf  over  the  sink  in  Henry 
Street.  "When  you  be  a  teacher,"  Minnie  heard  herself 
piping.  She  saw  the  rock,  the  refuse  of  the  air-shaft,  as 
in  a  vivid  dream. 

"I  love  you,  Minnie.  Isn't  it  odd  that  we  should  be 
sweethearts  after  that  long  separation?" 

Sweethearts!  She  became  conscious  of  Abraham's 
hands  lying  spread  out  on  his  knees,  stubby,  with  sfiort, 
blunt  fingers.  He  turned  his  head  at  the  sound  of  a 
step,  and  for  the  first  time,  she  observed  dark  hairs  like 
bristles  in  the  lobes  of  his  ear.  Sweethearts !  They ! 
It  struck  her  as  ludicrous  and  repellent.  She  remem- 
bered the  button  in  the  back  of  his  coat,  and  experienced 
an  uncanny  sensation,  as  of  dampness  in  the  room.  .  .  . 
He  in  love  with  her!  She  was  not  in  love  with  him! 
The  large  blond  and  dark  heads  of  Mr.  Grave  and  Greg- 
ory Chernin  danced  as  one  before  her  eyes,  their  reso- 
nant voices  rang  in  her  ears.  She  saw  the  humorous 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  415 

gleam  of  their  eyes.  Abraham  Ratkin's  cold  calculative- 
ness  as  compared  with  Gregory's  human  warmth  whipped 
upon  her  heart  like  a  cold  wet  cloth. 

"We  cannot  be  married  right  away,"  she  heard  Abra- 
ham saying.  "I  will  prepare  myself  to  take  the  principals' 
examination  a  few  years  from  now.  We  might  have  to 
stay  engaged  five  years.  You  are  young.  Twenty-five  is 
just  the  right  age  for  a  girl  to  be  married.  And  really, 

Minnie "  he  stumbled  and  added,  "dear — you  ought 

to  live  at  home — like  a  nice,  sweet,  sensible  girl.  We  will 
be  engaged,  and  you  will  find  it  pleasanter  than  you  used 
to  to  be  at  home,  because  they  always  respect  an  engaged 
daughter  in  a  Jewish  household.  We  will  spend  a  lot  of 
time  together.  You  will  work,  and  without  other  dis- 
tractions you  will  really  concentrate  your  mind  upon  the 
proper  reading.  Come,  like  a  nice  girl." 

Abraham  Ratkin's  arithmetic  of  life  had  never  left  a 
margin  for  complications.  To  him  life  was  a  sort  of 
Quaker  Matron  wearing  a  neat  white  cap  and  apron  and 
smiling  beneficent  acquiescence  upon  all  his  plans. 
Never,  in  all  his  neat  mapping  out  of  things,  had  he  al- 
lowed for  the  possible  need  of  removing  a  single  hair 
from  this  Quaker  Matron's  eye  to  make  her  see  that 
what  he  wanted  he  wanted  justifiably,  out  of  pure,  good 
reason. 

He  leaned  forward  in  his  chair,  expectant. 

A  gasp  came  from  Minnie  to  put  his  soul  in  a  panic. 

"Why,  Abraham — I — never — I  did  not  think  of  mar- 
rying you " 

Abraham  was  taken  aback.  He  flushed  and  waited  be- 
fore he  spoke  again. 

"Well,  of  course,  you  have  not  said  it  to  yourself.  It 
doesn't  matter.  A  fact  is  a  fact." 


416  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

What  in  the  world  did  he  mean,  she  wondered.  What 
in  the  world  did  all  of  them  mean?  Were  they  all 
crazy?  Abraham — Morris  Caplan — Mr.  Maloney? 

"I  don't  want  to  marry  you !"  she  said  in  a  raised  voice. 

Abraham's  heart  made  a  leap  and  landed  upside  down, 
causing  the  world  to  assume  the  queerest  aspect. 

Appearances  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding,  Abra- 
ham Ratkin  was  not  conceited.  He  was  simply  not  lack- 
ing in  the  normal  amount  of  self-confidence.  The  aver- 
age man  quite  naturally  expects  that  the  average  woman 
will  find  him  desirable  for  marriage.  As  John  Maloney 
so  aptly  put  it,  men  are  not  to  be  found  in  five-and-ten- 
cent  stores ;  a  fact  with  which  girls  of  experience  are  ac- 
quainted. And  when  a  young  man  and  a  young  woman 
can,  moreover,  look  back  upon  a  childhood  affection  as  a 
foundation,  could  a  man  possibly  be  more  justified  in 
feeling  secure?  Abraham's  heart  pounded  ridiculously, 
and  there  seemed  to  be  unsafe  things  lurking  in  the  cor- 
ners of  the  room.  He  was  overcome  with  alarm.  Bend- 
ing forward,  he  said  feverishly: 

"I — I  love  you.  Surely  you  love  me,  too.  I  can't  live 
without  you.  Without  you " 

"You  will  have  no  one  to  bully,"  Minnie  interjected. 
Her  feelings  were  at  last  crystallizing  into  definite  ob- 
jection. She  saw  before  her  the  mathematical  Abraham, 
the  calculating  Abraham,  the  Abraham  who  was  forever 
right,  who  never  had  a  gratifying  thing  to  say  to  her,  who 
had  figured  out  a  five-year  engagement  between  them  in 
order  to  make  her  his  perfect  counterpart,  like  the  porce- 
lain shepherdess  that  so  perfectly  matches  the  porcelain 
shepherd  at  the  other  end  of  the  mantel.  Rising,  she  said 
in  a  low  voice  with  concentrated  feeling: 

"You  all  make  me  weary."    Abraham  made  a  move  to 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  417 

grasp  her  hand.  Feeling  she  would  break  down  if  she 
stayed  in  the  room,  yet  hating  herself  for  her  weakness, 
she  jumped  up  and  left. 

Abraham's  astonishment  knew  no  bounds.  But  soon 
he  settled  down  £o  await  her  return.  He  even  felt  a  bit 
amused  at  her  childishness.  At  the  end  of  an  hour,  dur- 
ing which  she  failed  to  come  back,  he  left,  patching  up 
his  spirits  with  the  thought  that  she  was  a  little  stubborn 
and  with  the  conviction  that  she  would  write. 

Days  passed,  yet  no  letter  came  and  he  was  just  ap- 
proaching the  borderline  of  fear,  when  the  mail  brought 
a  missive  in  her  handwriting. 

DEAR  ABRAHAM  : 

I  have  left  the  Alpha  Home. 

MINNIE. 

The  Alpha  Home  had  become  unbearable  to  Minnie, 
and,  while  Abraham's  thoughts  had  been  dwelling  with 
her  lovingly,  she  had  been  meditating  escape  from  every- 
thing associated  in  her  mind  with  the  Home.  The  long- 
ing to  get  away  became  an  obsession,  to  which  she  finally 
yielded,  and  she  engaged  a  room  at  the  Young  Ladies' 
Lodge,  a  sort  of  working-girls'  hotel,  which  aspired  to 
eliminate  the  characteristics  of  a  philanthropy. 

XLVII 

"There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  universal  convention." 

Mr.  Grave,  with  a  bit  of  leisure  on  his  hands,  was 

keeping  Minnie  from  her  work.    Minnie  looked  as  if  she 

did  not  agree  with  him.    She  felt  sure  there  must  be  one 

thing  in  the  world  to  which  all  people  did  adhere.     But 


4i8  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

her  geographical  experience  being  as  limited  as  it  was, 
she  did  not  dare  pit  her  opinion  against  that  of  her 
august  friend. 

Whenever  Mr.  Grave  came  into  the  office  to  spend 
time  with  her,  Minnie's  heart  would  go  pit-a-pat,  and,  dis- 
tracted by  the  fear  that  he  might  detect  her  agitation,  she 
always  had  to  make  the  double  effort  of  controlling  her- 
self and  concentrating  her  mind  upon  the  way  to  meet 
him  in  conversation. 

"Isn't  there?"  she  asked. 

"No,  of  course  not;  can  you  think  of  any?" 

Mr.  Grave  was  trying  to  convince  her  that  there  was 
really  no  right  and  no  wrong,  since  what  was  right  in  one 
part  of  the  globe  was  wrong  in  another;  and  the  same, 
therefore,  held  true  of  individuals.  For  a  beggar  it  might 
be  right  to  steal,  while  for  her  it  might  be  wrong. 

As  he  seemed  to  have  won  the  day,  she  backed  water 
into  raillery.  It  was  when  making  fun  that  they  enjoyed 
each  other  the  most. 

"Well,  I  should  think  stupidity  at  least  was  a  universal 
convention.  For  instance,  here  you  sit  stupidly  forget- 
ting that  I  am  the  paid  secretary  of  the  Settlement  with 
work  to  do." 

Mr.  Grave  laughed,  then  fell  into  the  mood  of  his  own 
name.  She  was  undertaking  too  much  work,  he  told  her ; 
the  former  secretary  had  not  worked  so  hard,  and  it  was 
unwise  to  be  at  it  morning,  noon,  and  night. 

At  the  Young  Ladies'  Lodge  time  hung  heavy  on 
Minnie's  hands.  She  felt  lost  there.  From  the  Alpha 
Home  she  had  carried  away  a  strong  dislike  for  making 
new  friends  among  girls.  But  at  the  Settlement,  after 
she  had  shed  her  extreme  diffidence,  she  found  people 
drifting  to  her,  and  she  responded  gratefully  to  the  af- 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  419 

fection  that  they  manifested.  She  enjoyed  her  contacts 
there;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  almost  every  evening, 
after  having  supped  at  the  Young  Ladies'  Lodge,  she  re- 
turned to  the  Settlement,  where  there  was  recreation,  in- 
teresting work,  and  Mr.  Grave,  who  wafted  in  and  out, 
like  a  pleasant  breeze.  There  she  would  keep  herself 
from  brooding  about  Amelia's  tirade,  and  the,  to  her,  un- 
canny conduct  of  Morris  Caplan,  Abraham  Ratkin,  and 
John  Maloney,  which,  when  she  was  alone  and  unoccu- 
pied, always  beset  her.  She  could  not  keep  herself  from 
brooding  when  alone. 

At  Mr.  Grave's  advice  not  to  overwork,  Minnie 
dropped  her  eyes.  When  he  expressed  such  genuine 
concern  for  her,  a  facetious  retort  seemed  unfair,  and 
yet  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  explain  to  him  why 
she  clung  to  the  Settlement.  Her  eyes  grew  moist.  Un- 
guardedly she  looked  up  at  him. 

"Well,  now,"  he  rolled  out,  rising  from  his  seat,  "we 
seem  to  have  the  blues."  He  waited  a  moment  and 
added :  "How  about  theater  to-night  ?" 

To  theater  with  Mr.  Grave!    Minnie  thrilled. 

"Why,  that  would  be  perfectly  delightful,"  she  said, 
successfully  hiding  her  excitement. 

After  Mr.  Grave  was  gone  from  the  office  she  unac- 
countably dissolved  in  tears.  She  could  not  make  her- 
self out.  At  the  least  provocation  now  she  cried  like  a 

sentimental  old  lady. 

*****  * 

Romance!  It  was  a  drama  of  love  that  set  the  young 
a-yearning  and  kindled  sweet  memories  of  long  ago  in 
the  old.  The  novelty  of  an  orchestra  seat,  to  be  sitting 
beside  the  godlike  Mr.  Grave  wrought  a  spell  upon  Min- 
nie. There  was  a  glamour  over  everyone  and  everything. 


420  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Once  or  twice  Mr.  Grave's  eyes  left  the  stage  to  rest 
upon  her  profile.  Observing  her  expression  of  almost 
devout  rapture,  he  was  glad  he  had  been  the  instrument 
for  giving  her  so  much  pleasure,  and,  as  though  to  let  her 
know  he  was  thinking  of  her,  he  leaned  sidewise  so  that 
his  shoulder  touched  hers.  A  feeling  of  ecstacy,  sharp 
as  a  flash  of  lightning  and  as  brief,  shot  through  Min- 
nie's being.  Instinctively  she  moved  away  a  bit,  but  he 
inclined  a  little  further,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  act  they 
sat  with  shoulders  touching. 

When  the  curtain  dropped,  Minnie,  trying  to  feel  that 
there  was  no  reason  for  self-consciousness,  looked  up  at 
him  and,  with  an  attempt  at  naturalness,  smiled. 

"Well,  little  girl,  did  you  like  it?"  he  rolled  out,  smil- 
ing down  on  her  cordially.  Minnie  flushed  and  drew  in 
her  chin  timidly. 

"Oh,  yes,  it  was  perfectly  lovely."  Then,  forgetting 
herself  in  a  gust  of  enthusiasm,  she  asked :  "Don't  you 
think  she's  just  charming?  And  he — oh,  he  makes  me 
think  so  much  of  a  friend  of  mine,  Gregory  Chernin." 
The  actor  was  dark  and  tall  and  slender.  "I  used  to 
know  Gregory  when  I  was  a  little  girl.  I  met  him  again 
the  other  night.  His  voice  was  just  like  yours."  She 
broke  off,  self-conscious  again. 

Mr.  Grave  was  amused  by  her  zest  and  her  childish 
outburst  and  enjoyed  the  sparkle  of  her  eyes.  When  the 
curtain  went  up,  he  leaned  sidewise  again.  His  warm 
breath  grazed  her  cheek. 

"You  are  as  pretty  as  a  flower,  and  your  blue  dress 
makes  a  lovely  vase  for  you."  His  deep  tone  vibrated 
through  Minnie  like  organ  notes.  She  flushed.  Her 
heart  fluttered.  The  blood  pulsed  warm  through  her 
veins. 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  421 

There  was  a  new  rhythm  to  the  passionate  words  of 
love  breathed  by  the  ardent,  dark-haired  lover  of  the 
play. 

Mr.  Grave  took  Minnie's  hand  in  his.  A  faintness 
came  over  her  and  a  sensation  as  if  the  stage  had  moved 
miles  away ;  the  voices  reached  her  as  through  a  heavy 
forest  in  which  millions  of  birds  were  twittering.  She 
made  no  attempt  to  withdraw  her  hand. 

Throughout  the  rest  of  the  act  and  on  the  way  home 
neither  felt  the  desire  for  words. 

Outside  the  door  of  the  Young  Ladies'  Lodge  Mr. 
Grave  looked  down  on  Minnie  as  if  to  probe  her  soul. 

"May  I  come  to  see  you  next  Sunday?"  he  asked. 

She  hesitated,  afraid  to  trust  herself  to  speech.  "Yes," 
she  finally  brought  out  in  a  low  voice,  "I  should  be  very 
glad  if  you  would  come." 

He  was  very  courteous — perhaps  over-courteous — 
when  he  bade  her  good-night. 

She  dragged  up  the  stairs  unsteadily,  like  one  recu- 
perating from  an  illness.  Keeping  her  room  dark,  she 
drew  off  her  clothes  slowly.  Her  mind  would  not  move 
to  a  single  definite  thought.  She  got  into  bed.  One  by 
one,  as  fleecy  clouds  traverse  the  heavens,  thoughts  of 
the  evening  drifted  through  her  mind,  and  new,  warm 
sensations  wrapped  her  soul,  which  was  at  once  mournful 
and  ecstatic.  She  wanted  to  cry ;  she  wanted  to  laugh. 
She  buried  her  face  in  her  arm.  Her  hair  fell  in  a  chest- 
nut mass  over  her  back.  The  touch  of  it  thrilled  her 
through  and  through.  She  stretched  her  arms  forward, 
and  as  if  ashamed  of  the  wish  that  came  to  her  mind 
she  brought  them  quickly  back  and  clasped  them  beneath 
her  chin. 

"Goodness!     I  love  him!"  she  cried  and  gave  herself 


422  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

up  to  a  flow  of  tears,  while  her  whole  being  throbbed 
with  a  new,  strange  gladness. 


XLVIII 

Abraham  was  at  first  shocked  by  Minnie's  note,  then 
upon  re-reading  it,  concluded  it  was  not  to  be  taken  seri- 
ously. He  was  sure  she  had  written  it  in  one  of  her 
unaccountable  moods,  under  the  spell  of  the  same  per- 
verseness  that  had  taken  her  from  the  sitting-room  the 
day  of  the  proposal.  Abraham  was  not  of  the  sort  who  is 
easily  thwarted  in  his  ambitions,  and  since  he  had  de- 
cided to  marry  Minnie  the  insecurity  he  had  experienced 
was  rapidly  discarded.  He  braced  himself  and  went 
about  his  duties  calmly  confident  that  another  letter 
would  soon  come.  But  when  two  weeks  passed  and  his 
intuitions  were  promising  to  play  him  false  he  lost  some 
of  his  self-assurance  and  composure.  He  began  to  won- 
der what  he  ought  to  do,  whether  he  ought  to  wait  longer 
or  get  Minnie's  address  from  Amelia  Rubin  or  the  Alpha 
Home  itself.  He  let  another  week  pass  in  the  hope  of  a 
letter;  then  he  became  quite  troubled.  He  worked  up 
great  annoyance  with  Minnie.  "]ust  like  a  senseless 
child,  she  makes  it  necessary  for  me  to  track  her,"  he 
said  to  himself  disgustedly.  Yet  on  Sunday  afternoon  he 
started  off  for  the  Alpha  Home.  He  would  go  straight 
to  the  superintendent,  he  decided,  though  recalling  with 
mortification  that  she  knew  him  to  be  a  close  friend  of 
Minnie's.  He  could  have  spanked  Minnie. 

At  the  superintendent's  office,  receiving  no  response  to 
his  rap  on  the  door,  he  opened  it  and  found  a  large  man 
seated  in  a  temporary  attitude  on  the  edge  of  a  chair. 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  423 

"Oh,  is  nobody  here?"  Abraham  exclaimed,  entering 
and  letting  the  door  fall  shut. 

A  moment's  hesitation  and  a  merry  twinkle  came  into 
the  eyes  of  the  Irishman. 

"One  feels  pretty  much  like  a  nobody  here."  His 
twinkling  eyes  glanced  about  the  room,  and  his  nose 
worked  like  an  animal's  on  a  scent.  According  to  John 
Maloney's  standard,  the  Alpha  Home  smelt  cheap. 

Abraham  smiled. 

"I  meant  an  official." 

"Oh,  ye  saw  me,  did  ye  ?"  Mr.  Maloney  almost  roared. 
"Well,  the  official  went  to  fetch  me  an  address." 

The  door  opened,  and  the  superintendent  entered. 

"It  is  Mildred  Mendel,  Young  Ladies'  Lodge,"  she  read 
from  a  slip  of  paper  to  Mr.  Maloney,  who  rose  from  his 
chair  and  stood  deferentially  smiling. 

Abraham  stared. 

Mr.  Maloney  picked  up  his  hat  from  his  chair,  thanked 
the  superintendent  graciously,  and  waddled  out.  The 
eyes  of  the  woman  followed  him  with  amusement.  She 
turned  to  Abraham. 

"I  came  for  the  same,"  he  admitted,  feeling  so  monu- 
mentally foolish  that  he  could  have  shaken  Minnie  had 
she  been  on  the  spot. 

The  genial  superintendent  laughed.  Abraham,  blush- 
ing, mumbled  his  thanks,  and  left  in  pursuit  of  Mr.  Ma- 
loney. The  paper-box  manufacturer  must  not  get  there 
ahead  of  him.  What  claims  had  the  Irishman  on  Min- 
nie anyway?  He  made  a  wild  dash  and  overtook  Mr. 
Maloney  at  the  next  corner. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Maloney  ?" 

"Why,  yes,"  came  the  reply  a  little  dubiously  in  the 
Irishman's  deep,  generous  voice. 


424  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Abraham  explained  that  he  was  an  old  friend  of  Min- 
nie's, and  had  been  alarmed  because  he  had  not  heard 
from  her  for  three  weeks. 

They  traveled  together  on  their  amorous  mission,  con- 
versing pleasantly,  though  each  in  a  subterranean  region 
of  his  being  wished  the  other  in  Kingdom  Come. 

To  judge  by  the  exterior,  the  Young  Ladies'  Lodge  was 
a  hotel,  while  the  plainness  of  the  interior  offered  con- 
tradiction. The  two  men  were  puzzled  as  to  the  correct 
procedure  for  locating  a  dweller  in  this  unclassifiable  in- 
stitution. Finally  Mr.  Maloney  led  the  way  to  a  counter, 
behind  which  sat  a  girl  clerk.  While  she  was  gone  to  an- 
nounce the  callers,  Mr.  Maloney  gazed  about  the  prem- 
ises, and  his  far-sighted  eyes  peered  into  a  remote  cor- 
ner of  the  sitting-room  and  alighted  upon  his  former 
stenographer  sitting  beside  a  handsome  gentleman. 

"By  golly !" 

Mr.  Maloney's  exclamation  startled  his  companion 
competitor,  whose  gaze,  as  if  drawn  by  a  magnet,  traveled 
to  the  same  remote  corner.  Simultaneously  the  two  made 
for  the  corner  of  Great  Allure,  Mr.  Maloney  calling  back 
to  the  surprised  clerk : 

"Never  mind.    Don't  ye  bother." 

Minnie  did  not  see  the  two  men  until  they  were  close 
by,  and  then  was  too  dum founded  to  give  them  a  proper 
greeting,  much  less  to  introduce  them  to  Mr.  Grave,  who 
had  risen  with  her  and  stood  nonplussed  and  amused  by 
the  sudden  manifestations  of  extreme  embarrassment  in 
the  heroine  of  the  occasion.  She  was  flushing  scarlet  to 
the  roots  of  her  hair. 

"Why — Mr.  Ma Why,  Abraham — how  did  you 

find "  She  put  her  hand  to  the  back  of  her  head, 

which  had  begun  to  ache. 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  425 

Mr.  Maloney  enjoyed  her  confusion  and  let  out  his 
roar. 

At  last  she*  got  over  with  the  introductions.  In  an 
agony  that  Mr.  Grave  might  consider  her  clumsy,  ill- 
mannered,  ill-bred,  she  asked  them  all  to  be  seated. 

As  for  Abraham  Ratkin,  never  in  his  life  had  he  un- 
dergone such  a  shrinkage  of  his  importance.  One  of 
three !  Minnie  seemed  to  be  skating  away  from  him  on 
ice  while  he  was  unequipped  to  pursue.  Mrs.  Ratkin's 
gentle  son  was  ready  to  blast  his  two  rival  suitors.  How- 
ever, giving  no  evidence  of  his  will  to  murder,  he  asked 
Minnie  quite  quietly  whether  she  knew  how  much  worry 
she  nad  caused  him  by  her  silence. 

Minnie  was  so  nervous  and  uncomfortable,  wondering 
how  Mr.  Grave  was  affected  by  the  intrusion,  whether 
he  noticed  that  Abraham  spoke  with  a  Yiddish  intona- 
tion, while  Mr.  Maloney  said  "a"  instead  of  "of"  and 
"ye"  instead  of  "you,"  that  she  feared  she  would  break 
down  under  the  ordeal.  At  Abraham's  words,  she  started 
nervously. 

"I  didn't  think  about  it,"  she  answered  hastily,  looking 
away. 

She  realized  she  had  to  make  a  desperate  effort  to  pull 
herself  together.  Like  a  person  in  imminent  danger,  she 
gauged  her  plight  and  sought  the  nearest  refuge — persi- 
flage. Turning  to  Mr.  Maloney,  she  asked,  with  the 
friskiness  he  loved,  whether  he  had  changed  his  religion 
since  she  had  seen  him  last  or  whether  he  was  still  hob- 
nobbing with  the  Pope.  She  knew  Mr.  Maloney  was  an 
atheist  and  would  not  take  offiense. 

As  it  happened,  Mr.  Maloney  had  that  morning,  for 
the  sake  of  a  novel  experience,  visited  a  Christian  Science 
Church.  "It  may  do  ye  good  to  learn,"  he  said,  "that  in 
the  eyes  of  the  Christian  Scientists,  I  am  God's  perfect 


426  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

child.     Did  ye  ever  know  that  I  am  perfect?"  he  roared. 

"No,"  Minnie  laughed,  "but  why  did  you  have  to  go  to 
others  to  tell  you  so  when  you  could  have  told  it  to  your- 
self so  much  more  sincerely  ?" 

The  men  laughed,  and  Minnie  was  about  to  ask  Mr. 
Maloney  what  other  convenient  dogmas  he  had  carried 
away,  when  Mr.  Grave  sent  a  chill  through  her  by  ask- 
ing if  either  of  the  two  gentlemen  had  seen  Romance.  It 
was  as  if  he  were  giving  his  and  her  dearest  secret 
away. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know?"  She  interrupted,  ad- 
dressing Mr.  Grave.  "Mr.  Maloney's  heart  is  wrapped 
up  in  paper  boxes  through  which  romance  can't  possibly 
penetrate,  and  Mr.  Ratkin  employs  a  whole  police  force 
of  logic  and  reason  to  safeguard  him."  They  laughed 
again  and  the  two  accused  felt  like  both  shaking  and 
hugging  her. 

The  afternoon  wore  on  slowly  for  Minnie.  Her  head 
ached  beyond  endurance,  and  when  the  three  men  ob- 
serving her  fatigue  offered,  one  promptly  after  the  other 
to  leave,  her  relief  was  immense.  Each  was  disappointed 
with  her  ready  acquiescence. 

On  his  homeward  way  Mr.  Maloney  went  off  into  a 
cigar-smoke  revery,  in  which  he  saw  Minnie  in  his  fine 
home  sitting  on  his  knee  prattling,  laughing,  cutting  up 
stunts.  The  picture  faded  into  the  tantalizing  realization 
that  she  was  a  young  girl,  with  young  "fellers"  dangling 
after  her.  He  felt  his  middle  age  more  than  ever  and 
cursed  his  superfluous  avoirdupois.  He  decided  he  might 
as  well  step  out  of  the  game. 

Abraham  went  home  irritated  with  this  nonsense  of 
Minnie's  holding  off,  and  he  resolved  upon  another  and 
immediate  visit  when  he  would  make  a  quick  end  of 
matters. 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  427 

As  for  Mr.  Grave,  he  fell  to  thinking  of  a  tennis-play- 
ing, horseback-riding  Gibson  girl  in  the  West  to  whom 
he  was  engaged. 

XLIX 

The  bands  business  was  coming  to  nothing. 

Leopold  and  Sarah  could  no  longer  close  their  eyes  to 
the  disaster  staring  them  in  the  face.  Mrs.  Tannenbaum 
had  reached  the  end  of  her  imagination  for  advice.  The 
Mira  Cohen  woman,  she  said,  had  given  up  bands  long 
before  and  was  making  money  in  other  kinds  of  milli- 
nery; but,  then,  of  course,  Mira  Cohen  had  relatives  in 
Boston. 

They  considered  projects  for  a  new  business,  but  the 
hardships  connected  with  such  a  move  at  their  time  of 
life  seemed  insurmountable,  and  they  deluded  themselves 
into  momentary  cheerfulness  with  the  hope  that  hat  styles 
might,  after  all,  change  and  bands  become  fashionable 
again.  For  Sarah  their  consultations  always  ended  in 
helpless  despair,  while  Leopold  regularly  reverted  in  his 
mind  to  a  scheme  which  he  hesitated  to  impart  to  Sarah. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  in  which  not  a  single  dollar  had 
been  taken  in,  he  plucked  up  courage  and  spoke. 

"Sarah,"  he  said,  "the  girls  are  grown-up  and  self- 
supporting.  How  would  it  be  for  us  to  make  a  change 
altogether?" 

"A  change  altogether?    How?    What  do  you  mean?" 

Leopold  ran  his  fingers  through  his  graying  hair. 
Sarah's  eyes  followed  the  movement,  and  a  pang  shot 
through  her.  Not  so  long  ago  she  and  Leopold  had  been 
young  lovers ;  now  she,  too,  was  gray.  Life  was  a  chain 
of  gray  circumstances. 

"I  have  been  thinking  for  a  long  time  that  we  could 


428  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

just  drop  everything  here  and  go  to  South  Africa.  It's 
easier  to  start  something  new  in  a  new  place  than  in  an 
old- place." 

Sarah  was  somehow  not  surprised,  as  if  she  had  ex- 
pected this  very  suggestion.  She  was  in  that  state  of  de- 
jection in  which  nothing  startles.  In  an  instant  she  took 
in  the  full  significance  of  the  suggestion.  She  lowered 
her  head  and  made  no  reply.  Her  heart  filled  with  a 
blank  mournfulness  at  the  prospect  of  going  to  new  sur- 
roundings, away  from  everything  and  everybody  familiar. 
In  her  weary  brain  there  rose  a  vision  of  her  Jacob  grown 
to  large  manhood,  and  Ida  and  Beckie  to  womanhood. 
To  leave  them  behind!  She  saw  Minnie  as  she  had 
looked  the  night  of  the  graduation.  .  .  .  Sarah's  mother 
heart  was  torn  with  anguish. 

Leopold  continued  rather  ruefully : 

"We  are  growing  older.  A  new  business  here  might 
not  be  successful,  we  might  lose  our  money.  Then 
what?"  He  raised  his  eyes  to  hers.  "I  don't  know  how 
you  feel  about  it,  but  I  would  not  like  to  become  de- 
pendent upon  the  children." 

Dependent!  Sarah  was  startled  out  of  her  mood. 
She  would  rather  die,  she  cried,  than  be  dependent  upon 
anybody,  whether  childern,  mother,  brother,  father,  even 
husband.  In  an  access  of  vigor  she  rose  from  her  seat 
and  went  about  small  tasks. 

Neither  spoke  for  a  long  while.  Leopold  broke  the 
silence  to  say  he  had  to  go  out,  and  urged  her  gently  to 
consider  the  South  African  proposition  seriously. 

"But  it  will  cost  a  great  deal  to  get  there.  What  if  we 
should  not  be  successful?" 

Leopold  assured  her  there  was  no  reason  why  they 
should  not  be  successful,  since  a  small  investment  in  any 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  429 

business  in  South  Africa  would  yield  them  a  living,  and 
all  they  needed  for  their  few  remaining  years  was  simply 
a  living,  respectable  independence. 

They  smiled  wistfully,  and  Sarah,  before  he  went  out, 
promised  to  think  it  over.  She  went  about  her  tasks 
slowly  and  preoccupied.  For  a  long  time  past,  life,  for 
all  its  other  stress,  had  at  least  been  free  from  economic 
worry,  and  she  wondered  wherein  she  and  Leopold  had 
so  sinned  that  the  very  business  they  had  chosen  should 
decline.  Here  her  mind  rested  as  if  to  absorb  the  fact 
that  things  were  really  as  bad  as  they  thought.  It  seemed 
impossible  that  their  circumstances  had  come  to  a  pass 
that  necessitated  their  contemplating  so  drastic  a  step 
as  migration  to  a  remote  corner  of  the  earth,  away  from 
everything  and  everybody  they  knew.  A  harrowing  sense 
of  loneliness  and  despair  overcame  her,  and  in  an  effort 
to  save  herself  she  clutched  at  the  thought  that  other 
mothers  did  allow  themselves  to  be  supported  by  their 
children  quite  naturally.  But  this  she  could  not  contem- 
plate. "Not  for  me,  not  for  me!"  she  cried  to  herself 
and  hurried  on  with  her  work. 


Abraham  came  again  to  call  on  Minnie  the  Wednesday 
after  the  visit  of  the  three.  Without  any  preliminaries 
he  launched  upon  the  subject  of  his  proposal,  and  in  al- 
most a  single  breath  begged  her  to  discard  trifling,  to 
think  and  speak  soberly,  and  to  bear  in  mind  the  serious- 
ness of  the  matter. 

"But  Abraham,  I  have  told  you  how  I  feel,"  she  pro- 
tested. 

"You  have  not  even  given  the  matter  consideration. 


430  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

How  then  can  I  accept  anything  you  say  as  your  de- 
cision ?" 

"But  I  don't  love  you.  People  don't  have  to  think 
whether  they  are  in  love  or  not."  Minnie  felt  a  hysteri- 
cal determination  to  have  the  matter  over  with,  and  not 
to  allow  his  apparent  reasonableness  to  reduce  her,  as  it 
always  had,  to  impotence. 

Abraham  flushed  and  stared  at  her.  He  had  a  sinking 
sensation.  He  felt  adrift  as  though  landmarks  had  sud- 
denly been  removed.  His  unnatural  flush  was  succeeded 
by  a  still  more  unnatural  pallor.  Minnie  was  genuinely 
pained. 

"Abraham,  I'm  awfully  sorry.  I  really  am.  I  wouldn't 
hurt  you  or  anybody  for  the  world.  But  what  can  I  do? 
I  don't  love  you."  The  tears  were  in  her  eyes  and  voice. 
Abraham  felt  himself  suspended  in  mid-air.  There  are 
some  people  who  are  never  prepared  for  a  disturbance  of 
their  serenity.  They  live  in  a  peculiar  security  of  belief 
that  while  evil  may  befall  others,  they  themselves  will 
always  be  immune. 

Abraham,  unable  to  look  the  future  now  threatening 
in  the  face,  abandoned  himself  to  passionate  pleading. 

"Minnie  dear,  you  don't  mean  you  have  seriously  de- 
cided not  to  marry  me?  Take  time  to  think.  I  will  be 
good  to  you.  I  would  sacrifice  my  life  for  you.  You 
are  alone  and  need  someone  to  be  devoted  to  you.  What 
would  I  not  do  for  you !  You  are  dearer  to  me  than  my 
own  life."  He  took  her  hand  in  his. 

Pity  and  then  aversion  swept  over  Minnie,  like  a  wind 
that  leaves  behind  a  trail  of  dust. 

"Abraham,  please Oh,  Abraham,  I  can't.  I  don't 

feel  well.  Please  don't  excite  me." 

She  began  to  cry.     Abraham,  agonized,  released  her 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  431 

hands,  but  still  continued  to  plead,  leaning  eagerly  for- 
ward in  his  chair. 

"Won't  you  take  time  to  think  about  it?"  he  asked,  his 
voice  quivering. 

Minnie  wiped  her  eyes. 

"Abraham,  I  haven't  been  feeling  well.  I  get  such 
headaches  and  palpitations.  Please  don't  upset  me  so.  I 
am  sorry  for  you  but  I  am  not  happy  myself  either.  I 
can't  bear  to  make  you  so  miserable." 

He  sat  helpless  for  a  moment ;  then,  becoming  mindful 
of  the  virtue  of  self-forgetfulness  in  the  face  of  distress, 
he  urged  her  to  calm  herself,  assuring  her  he  had  not 
meant  to  upset  her  so  and  impressing  upon  her  that  if  she 
was  not  well,  she  ought  to  go  to  a  doctor.  He  soon  rose 
to  go. 

When  the  front  door  closed  on  Abraham,  Minnie  stood 
in  the  hall  utterly  numb,  in  a  state  of  mental  collapse. 
A  ruthless  hand  was  drawing  and  twisting  her  vitals. 
She  could  not  have  told  how  she  got  upstairs  and  into 
bed.  And  bed  was  no  relief,  nor  was  it  a  relief  to  close 
her  burning  lids.  The  thoughts  came  crowding;  every 
detail  of  the  evening  was  a  separate  torment,  every  word 
of  Abraham's  pleading,  her  own  answers,  her  tears.  She 
had  cried  again.  She  was  thoroughly  mortified ;  she  had 
no  patience  with  this  new  thing — her  facile  overflows. 
The  whole  scene  had  been  obnoxious,  Abraham's  part  in 
it,  her  own  part  in  it.  Somehow  it  should  not  have  oc- 
curred. And  Mr.  Maloney's  proposal  and  Morris  Cap- 
lan's  two  proposals  should  not  have  occurred.  Each  de- 
tail of  these  events  became  a  separate  torment.  She  felt 
as  if  it  would  never  be  possible  for  her  to  stop  her 
thoughts,  as  if  she  had  to  submit  to  them  as  to  a  hard 
master.  And  she  was  so  tired,  so  dreadfully,  so  unnat- 
urally, so  unmercifully  tired!  .  .  .  "You  ought  to  go  to 


432  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

a  doctor,"  sounded  Abraham's  voice.  Abraham  was  so 
earnest,  so  whole-souled,  so  trustworthy,  good  as  gold — 
her  pal  of  Henry  Street.  He  needed  her  to  make  him 
happy.  She  felt  mean  and  worthless  to  inflict  suffering 
upon  him  instead.  A  deep  longing  for  the  power  to  love 
him — to  make  him  happy — possessed  her.  But  she  re- 
mained cold.  .  .  .  With  sudden  passion,  feeling  hope- 
lessly abandoned,  lonely,  she  cried  to  herself :  "Oh,  if 

only  I  had  someone  to  tell  it  all  to — someone "     A 

hard-hearted  mother  standing  over  an  over-worked  little 
Beckie  flitted  before  her  closed  eyes. 

The  rising  bell  clanged  upon  a  deep  sleep  which  had 
not  come  until  morning.  Minnie  dressed  with  a  heart 
palpitating  from  the  shock  of  the  awakening;  the  comb 
fell  from  her  hands ;  she  fumbled  with  her  shoe  laces ; 
dressing  seemed  to  be  an  endless,  insurmountable  diffi- 
culty. She  left  the  breakfast  table  for  work  without  a 
mouthful  of  food;  she  could  not  swallow  even  a  cup  of 
coffee. 


For  days  Abraham  was  the  most  wretched  lover  that 
has  ever  found  himself  spurned.  He  hated  the  food  he 
ate,  his  daily  routine,  the  voice  and  the  sight  of  his 
mother,  whose  design  it  had  been  to  bring  this  very  mis- 
ery upon  him. 

Each  succeeding  visit  to  Minnie  only  drove  a  new  nail 
into  the  coffin  of  his  hopes.  She  remained  unshaken. 
The  fact  that  Minnie  Mendel,  his  playmate  of  Henry 
Street,  was  unwilling  to  be  his  wife,  finally  struck  him 
as  unalterable,  and  a  pall  of  gloom  settled  upon  his  heart. 
His  step  became  heavy  as  a  middle-aged  man's ;  his  spir- 
its crumpled  up  like  a  dried  plant. 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  433 

To  add  to  his  unhappiness  he  began  to  suffer  the  pangs 
of  jealousy.  Minnie,  it  had  become  evident  to  him,  was 
in  love  with  Mr.  Grave.  On  his  regular  Sunday  visits  he 
invariably  met  the  delightful  gentleman  in  her  company. 
When  Abraham  would  observe  her  flush  and  quiver 
under  Mr.  Grave's  gaze  or  touch  or  praise,  it  took  every 
bit  of  his  self-control  not  to  evince  the  concern  he  felt 
on  her  account — yes,  he  assured  himself,  wholly  on  her 
account.  Very  obviously  Mr.  Grave  was  not  in  love  with 
Minnie,  and  in  any  circumstances  the  affair  was  objec- 
tionable because  Mr.  Grave  was  a  Gentile.  Abraham  was 
very  Jewish  in  his  feelings.  He  believed  so  much  in  the 
individuality  of  his  people  that  he  gave  his  support  to 
the  Zionist  movement,  which  has  for  its  program  the  re- 
establishment  of  Palestine  as  a  Jewish  homeland.  The 
time  came  when  he  could  no  longer  maintain  silence.  He 
warned  Minnie.  To  fall  in  love,  he  said,  with  a  man  to 
whom  she  was  so  obviously  only  a  pastime  was  quixotic. 

Minnie  turned  pale,  bit  her  lips,  suppressed  the  resent- 
ment that  rose  in  her  heart,  and  told  him  with  dignity 
that  it  was  her  own  private  affair,  and  he  was  taking  a 
liberty  in  giving  her  unsolicited  advice. 

Abraham's  warning,  however,  had  its  effect  upon  Min- 
nie. Thereafter  she  carefully  weighed  Mr.  Grave's  at- 
tentions, placing  her  own  feelings  in  the  balance.  Each 
time  he  left  the  office  with  the  least  show  of  haste,  her 
heart  stood  still  in  an  agony  of  doubt.  If  he  loved  her, 
she  reasoned,  he  would  never  for  any  reason  be  in  a  hurry 
to  leave  her.  She  would  watch  for  his  smile  of  approval 
as  a  mother  watches  for  the  smile  of  an  ailing  child,  and 
if  a  Sunday  passed  on  which  he  did  not  come  to  see  her, 
the  whole  world  was  wrapped  in  gloom.  When  they  were 
alone  together,  she  would  tremble  with  the  anticipation  of 
his  love  avowal,  tortured  all  the  while  by  the  sound  of 


434  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Abraham's  voice  telling  her  mockingly  that  she  was  only 
a  pastime. 

She  began  to  look  pale  and  pinched  and  to  act  so  mirth- 
lessly that  Abraham,  whose  kind  heart  was  torn  to  its 
core,  took  his  courage  in  his  hands  once  more,  and,  pre- 
pared for  any  sacrifice  of  Minnie's  good-will,  warned  her 
a  second  time,  on  this  occasion  going  the  full  length  of 
explicitness.  It  was  obvious,  he  said,  that  Mr.  Grave 
enjoyed  her  company,  but  so  far  as  marriage  was  con- 
cerned, his  mind  was  as  remote  from  it  as  from  the 
Pacific  Ocean. 

Minnie  turned  upon  him  like  a  tigress. 

"You  take  the  liberties  of  a  relative,"  she  burst  out. 
"If  you  had  the  least  delicacy  of  feeling,  you  would  keep 
quiet.  I  hate  you.  Please  don't  ever  come  to  see  me 
again."  They  were  out  walking  and  she  quit  him  then 
and  there  to  rush  back  to  the  Young  Ladies'  Lodge,  where 
she  threw  herself  on  her  bed,  her  soul  writhing  in  an 
agony  of  doubt.  .  Every  little  thing  Mr.  Grave  had  ever 
done  to  indicate  liking  rather  than  love  rose  to  torture 
her. 

As  for  poor  Abraham,  he  returned  home  an  even  sad- 
der man.  The  night  held  no  sleep  for  him,  and  in  the 
morning  he  poured  out  his  full  heart  on  paper.  When 
he  posted  the  letter  to  Minnie,  a  hope  like  a  fervent 
prayer  rose  within  him  that  his  written  word  at  least 
might  reach  her  soul. 

DEAREST  MINNIE: 

The  psychological  steps  resulting  in  action  take  place  in  the 
following  order:  thinking,  feeling,  willing,  acting.  In  a 
strong  mind  all  these  processes  are  strong;  in  a  weak  mind 
they  are  weak.  Therefore,  after  reading  the  tale  of  woe  I 
hereby  relate,  betraying  my  strong  feeling,  do  not  condemn 
me  as  a  weakling.  I  am  far  from  being  that. 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  435 

Neither  should  you  convict  me  as  being  filled  with  great  pas- 
sion. You  well  know  how  my  conduct  toward  you  is  absolutely 
free  from  anything  passionate,  not  because  I  am  a  prude,  but 
partly  because  I  respect  you  and  know  you  would  not  tolerate 
anything  material  and,  above  all,  because  my  training  has  put 
my  passions  under  my  control,  so  that  I  must  make  an  effort 
to  yield  to  them.  All  moral  people  are  that  way. 

Nor  can  you  call  me  a  boy.  My  training  has  made  me  men- 
tally older  than  my  years,  and  the  preliminary  economic 
struggle,  of  which  you  know  much  yourself,  has  broadened 
my  mind  more  than  the  average  young  man's  of  my  age.  I 
deprecate  self-laudation,  but  I  have  friends  older  than  my- 
self who,  I  know,  are  fond  of  me. 

Finally,  Minnie,  do  not  think  I  am  excited.  I  can  prove  my 
sanity  even  now  on  the  question  under  discussion,  even  on  the 
two  individuals  under  consideration.  I  proposed  to  you  after 
mature  deliberation,  for  I  had  thought  about  it  long  before 
you  ever  suspected.  When  I  met  you  while  I  was  still  at  college, 
I  loved  you,  and  you  seemed  unable  to  believe  that  I  really 
meant  it.  Then,  later,  you  assured  me  that  I  did  not  mean  it, 
even  if  I  thought  so,  for  if  I  did,  I  could  not  find  so  much  fault 
with  you.  Oh,  Minnie,  it  is  because  I  love  you  that  I  want  to 
exert  a  good  influence  over  you.  I  have  been  waiting  patiently 
for  you  to  come  to  this  understanding,  but,  instead,  you  seem  to 
be  turning  to  other  men  who  do  not  criticize  you,  thinking  that 
by  this  they  prove  that  they  have  greater  regard  for  you.  It 
is  not  so. 

I  do  not  know  how  to  write  poetically.  I  have  not  read 
enough  novels  to  have  learned  the  tactics  of  winning  a  woman's 
heart.  I  must  confine  myself  to  the  truth  in  my  own  crude  way. 
But  I  am  sure  you  will  recognize  it  as  the  truth.  The  Talmud 
says :  "Words  that  leave  the  heart  enter  the  heart." 

Please  do  not  consider  the  following  a  flattery  of  myself. 
You  must  admit  that  it  is  an  accurate  analysis  of  your  mind. 
You  cannot  stand  injustice.  I  have  tried  to  make  you  believe 
that  this  quality  is  Judaic,  and  you  have  interpreted  me  as 
being  narrow-minded,  as  desiring  to  influence  you  against 
association  with  Gentiles.  I  have  tried  to  make  you  see 
that  the  work  that  you  are  spending  your  strength  on  now, 


436  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

like  your  promiscuous  attempts  to  make  converts  to  a  mis- 
conceived Socialism  before,  is  a  waste  of  time.  The  work 
you  are  doing  now  is  good  enough  for  the  men  and  women 
who  see  conditions  only  on  the  surface.  For  real  thinking 
men  and  women  the  trouble  lies  too  deep  to  be  cured  by 
such  a  mild  measure.  For  trying  to  exercise  my  influence 
upon  you,  I  have  gained  only  your  displeasure ;  but  if  it  has 
also  jeopardized  my  chances  for  ever  gaining  your  love,  then 
you  have  allowed  yourself  to  feel  too  great  displeasure  to  be 
fair  to  me. 

Oh,  Minnie,  I  love  you  so !  I  love  you  with  every  bit  of  my- 
self, with  every  throb  of  my  heart  In  these  months  of  uncer- 
tainty let  me  tell  you  how  I  have  spent  my  time.  It  was  much 
like  years  ago  when  I  was  a  boy  and  had  a  toothache.  I  would 
long  for  the  day  at  night  and  for  the  night  by  day,  in  the  hope 
of  getting  relief.  So  it  has  been  these  months.  I  have  longed 
one  day  for  the  next  in  the  hope  of  getting  some  encouragement 
from  you.  When  the  uncertainty  of  my  future  dawns  upon  me, 
when  I  think  of  having  to  live  without  you  my  skin  quivers,  my 
eyes  fill  with  tears,  and  I  must  perforce  think  of  something  else. 
I  wish  I  could  invoke  the  aid  of  Shakespeare's  analytical  mind 
and  Milton's  muses  to  describe  to  you  my  suffering.  I  have  not 
read  a  single  page  of  anything  in  weeks,  although  I  sit  for  hours 
at  my  books.  I  loathe  the  very  food  that  is  set  before  me.  I 
am  miserable  without  you.  The  world  looks  so  uninteresting  and 
so  hollow  with  all  the  room  for  charity!  Tears  roll  down  my 
cheeks  as  I  write  now.  I  shudder  at  the  wretched  life  that  I 
may  have  to  live. 

The  Talmud  says :  "Forty  days  before  the  birth  of  the  in- 
fant, a  voice  from  heaven  proclaims:  'The  son  of  this  man  for 
the  daughter  of  this  man.' "  Oh,  Minnie,  I  feel  that  we  two 
were  destined  for  each  other.  Can  you  think  of  Henry  Street 
and  feel  otherwise?  Why,  Minnie,  don't  you  remember  the 
lunch  hour  we  spent  in  the  air-shaft  when  the  refuse  came 
down  on  our  heads,  and  the  afternoon  we  spent  afterwards  in 
Rutgers  Street  Park? 

Even  if  I  try  to  direct  you,  with  me  you  would  live  the  free 
life  of  a  bird,  for  I  believe  in  the  freedom  of  women.  Your  life 
with  me  would  be  replete  with  real  joys  and  real  pains — even  a 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  437 

bird  has  pains.  What  man  or  woman  understands  you  better 
than  I  do?  None.  Oh,  Minnie,  I  feel  our  souls  are  counter- 
parts of  each  other;  fused  together  they  would  form  a  living 
symphony. 

And  does  the  thought  ever  occur  to  you  that  you  would  dis- 
card Abraham  for  a  broader-minded  man?  (I  hereby  affirm 
that  I  have  no  individual  in  mind.)  [Can  it  be  that  Abraham 
was  not  thinking  here  of  Mr.  Grave?]  How  unjust!  Minnie, 
you  who  want  and  strive  to  be  so  just,  can  you  feel  about  me 
that  I  am  narrow-minded  because  I  do  not  approve  of  every- 
thing you  do  and  say?  You  cannot  condemn  me  so  and  dis- 
card me!  Our  souls  are  too  tightly  entwined  in  each  other's. 
You  have  been  my  biggest  influence  all  the  years.  Have  I  not 
been  any  influence  in  your  life  at  all?  If  you  should  tear  your- 
self away  from  me  a  part  of  you  would  ever  be  with  me.  No 
man  can  have  you  complete.  Oh,  Minnie ! 

Now  I  suffer.  I  am  miserable.  But  at  times  I  am  hopeful. 
Should  that  hope  be  shattered  I  will  live  always  a  hollow  ex- 
istence, my  strong  sense  of  duty  keeping  my  body  up. 

You  may  do  what  you  like — live  away  from  your  family, 
quarrel  with  them,  continue  in  your  Settlement  work,  you  may 
burn,  kill,  steal — I  will  love  you.  My  love  for  you  is  as  much 
a  fact  as  the  sun.  I  hereby  state  that  I  would  sacrifice  my 
honor  for  you.  Thinking  people  agree  that  this  and  this  only 
is  true  love. 

Dearest  Minnie,  say  yes ! 

Dearest  Minnie,  say  yes ! 

The  man  whose  life  you  are, 

ABRAHAM. 


LI 


At  sight  of  the  thick  letter  lying  on  her  desk  in  the 
Settlement  the  next  morning,  Minnie  fell  into  a  nervous 
tremor;  she  could  scarcely  tear  the  envelope  open.  But 
she  read  her  lover's  outpouring  from  beginning  to  end. 


438  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

She  went  about  her  work  dully,  under  the  shock  of  the 
first  realization  of  Abraham's  intensity  of  feeling.  It 
dragged  on  her  like  a  load.  She  could  not  cope  with  it ; 
she  could  not  meet  his  ardor  with  even  the  feeblest  glow. 
To  be  unresponsive  to  such  love  seemed  to  indicate  a 
meanness  in  herself.  Abraham  was  good,  he  deserved 
her  love.  She  had  been  hard.  With  her  mind,  of  course, 
she  had  taken  in  that  he,  well — not  exactly  that  he  loved 
her — his  feelings  had  never  impressed  her  as  love.  Now 
she  was  moved  profoundly.  But  what  could  she  do?  She 
chided  herself  endlessly  for  her  unresponsiveness.  Her 
sense  of  guilt  was  making  her  wretched. 

At  lunch  hour  she  read  the  letter  over  again.  Para- 
graphs struck  her  that  had  been  overshadowed  in  the  first 
reading.  Abraham  wrote  that  if  she  listened  .to  an  inner 
voice,  she  would  hear  that  she  loved  him.  As  if  she  were 
superficial!  Abraham  always  acted  as  though  he  knew 
her  inner  feelings  better  than  she  did  herself.  And  there 
he  was  saying  again  that  Mr.  Grave  had  no  regard  for 
her.  So  she  construed :  "You  seem  to  be  turning  to  other 
men  who  do  not  criticize  you,  thinking  that  they  thereby 
prove  they  have  greater  regard  for  you."  And  upon  this 
thought,  that  Mr.  Grave  had  no  regard  for  her,  her  mind 
dwelt  persistently  until,  in  her  sensitiveness,  the  two  short 
lines  were  trumpeting:  "You  are  nothing  but  an  insig- 
nificant little  Jew  girl  from  the  dirty  East  Side  with  a 
charity  record  behind  you;  a  mere  nobody  even  yet — in 
a  working-girls'  home." 

"Hello,  girlie!"  called  Mr.  Grave  from  the  threshold. 
"How  are  you?  There's  so  much  work  waiting  for  me 
upstairs  that  I  haven't  the  time  even  to  talk  about  the 
weather." 

Mr.  Grave  made  no  reference  to  a  thick  letter  from 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  439 

the  West  in  his  breast-pocket,  which  he  was  hurrying  up 
to  his  room  to  read. 

After  he  disappeared,  Minnie  kept  staring  into  the  hall 
to  retain  the  mental  vision  of  his  elastic  figure  bounding 
up  the  stairs.  She  felt  tremulously  in  need  of  him — of 
the  greater  perfection  he  stood  for.  The  next  morning 
Abraham  was  marvelling  at  her  cruelty.  She  had  writ- 
ten him  a  short,  cold  letter. 


LII 


Abraham,  who  had  resigned  himself  to  a  period  of 
waiting,  during  which  he  trusted  circumstances  would 
right  themselves,  continued  to  visit  Minnie,  though  he 
sedulously  refrained  from  speaking  his  mind,  even  when 
he  felt  that  doing  so  would  hasten  her  restoration  to 
sanity. 

As  for  Mr.  Grave,  he  kept  up  his  rainbow  appearances 
in  Minnie's  sky,  leaving  behind  sunshine  or. clouds,  ac- 
cording to  the  degree  of  his  friendliness.  His  manner 
was  so  unfailingly  affable  and  he  showed,  on  the  whole, 
so  much  pleasure  in  her  company  even  when  he  re- 
mained only  a  moment  or  two  that  by  degrees  the  effect 
of  Abraham's  comments  almost  wore  off. 

But  her  health  began  to  suffer.  She  lost  her  appetite, 
and  slept  poorly,  and  always  felt  fagged.  In  addition 
Ida  and  Beckie  brought  distressing  news  of  the  business 
and  the  South  African  project.  Within  a  short  time  a 
vast  amount  of  maturity  seemed  to  settle  upon  Minnie. 
She  brooded  over  her  mother's  hard  lot  and  charged  her- 
self with  having  contributed  to  it.  She  impressed  herself 
now  as  having  been  the  intolerant  one,  the  peace  dis- 
turber. Everything  would  have  been  different,  she  im- 


440  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

agined  self -accusingly,  had  she  not  left  home.  Often  it 
tortured  her  that  she  might  have  gone  to  college  and  de- 
veloped into  a  person  whom  Mr.  Grave  could  look  upon 
as  fit  for  him,  while  her  own  love  sufferings  made  her 
regard  her  mother's  marriage  as  quite  a  natural  thing  and 
gave  her  a  sense  of  guilt  toward  Leopold.  For  Abraham 
she  felt  a  new  kindness  and  warmth ;  her  manner  became 
more  patient,  her  every  act  gentler.  Her  thoughts  went 
back  penitently  to  Morris  Caplan,  to  the  peremptoriness 
with  which  she  had  dismissed  him,  and  she  had  inter- 
mittent impulses  to  write  and  tell  him  she  regretted  her 
harshness.  And  now  and  then  a  feeling  of  moral  re- 
sponsibility toward  Louis  "the  paintner"  stabbed  her  soul. 
She  seemed  to  have  been  drawn  out  of  herself  into  a 

world  of  others. 

****** 

No  sooner  had  Sarah  consented  to  the  South  African 
plan  than  she  was  assailed  by  a  brood  of  ominous  fears. 
The  parting  framed  itself  in  her  mind  as  a  definite  one 
for  all  time.  She  would  never  return,  never  see  her 
children  again.  Inevitably  regrets  began  to  stir  in  her 
breast.  She  blamed  herself  unreservedly  for  not  having 
hunted  Minnie  up  as  soon  as  the  child  left  home.  Though 
she  dreaded  making  the  admission  to  her  own  soul,  she 
believed  superstitiously  that  this  new  visitation  was  the 
chastisement  for  her  conduct,  and  pictured  herself  in  all 
sorts  of  attitudes,  begging  Minnie  to  forgive  her.  Often 
she  retired  into  privacy  to  wring  her  hands  and  sob  out 
her  grief. 

During  the  weeks  that  Sarah  had  held  off  without  mak- 
ing up  her  mind  regarding  South  Africa  Leopold  had 
waited  eagerly  for  her  assent,  so  that  his  first  reaction 
when  she  gave  it  was  relief ;  but  as  he  began  to  visualize 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  441 

the  possible  course  of  their  life  in  South  Africa,  he  re- 
called that  his  previous  sojourn  there  had  not  been  ex- 
actly "golden,"  and  came  to  the  conclusion,  after  much 
thought,  that  it  would  be  wiser  for  him  to  go  alone  and 
if  he  found  conditions  favorable,  send  for  Sarah  after- 
ward. He  told  Sarah  so.  She  stared  at  him  as  if  he 
had  slapped  her,  undergoing  the  agonies  of  the  deserted 
wife — deserted,  she  wailed  inwardly,  because  her  bands 
business  was  no  longer  her  alluring  partner.  Leopold 
surmised  what  was  going  on  in  her  mind.  He  took  her 
in  his  arms. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  "you  are  more  precious  to  me  than 
ever.  Don't  think  with  this  trouble  upon  us  both  I  would 
desert  you."  He  stooped  and  kissed  her.  She  began  to 
weep.  "I  want  to  go  ahead  because  I  think  it  will  be 
safer.  I  do  not  want  you  to  go  to  hardships.  Upon  my 
honor  as  a  man,  I  will  let  you  know  the  moment  I  can 
whether  it  is  safe  for  you  to  come,  and  if  it  is  not  I  will 
come  right  back  to  you.  We  will  suffer  together,  not 
apart." 

They  embraced  and  wept  silently. 

Soon  afterwards  Leopold  decided  upon  the  date  of  his 
sailing  and  bought  his  ticket. 

The  household  became  enveloped  in  gloom.  Even  the 
girls,  who  by  now  had  become  accustomed  to  Leopold 
and  his  ways,  and  in  whose  heart  he  had  found  a  place, 
were  saddened  by  the  approaching  departure.  In  this 
period  he  treated  them  with  an  even  more  marked  pa- 
ternal kindness  and  gentleness  than  he  had  been  showing 
since  the  business  had  begun  to  decline  and  his  hair  to 
turn  gray.  When  they  returned  from  visits  to  Minnie, 
he  would  listen  to  what  they  had  to  say  of  her  with  an 
interest  he  had  never  before  shown.  Once  or  twice  he 


442  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

found  Sarah  watching  him  intently  and  dropped  his  eyes, 
wondering  whether  she  guessed  that  he  was  feeling  re- 
morseful and  that  he  wished  now  more  than  ever  that 
Minnie  had  not  spurned  the  home. 

One  night,  not  long  before  the  day  of  his  leaving, 
Sarah  asked  him  diffidently  whether  he  would  consent 
to  go  to  the  Settlement  with  her  to  say  good-by  to  Min- 
nie. With  some  impatience,  somehow  anxious  to  hide  his 
true  feelings,  he  declined,  though  the  jerk  of  his  shoul- 
ders and  his  overemphasis  revealed  to  his  wife  his  real 
wish  in  the  matter — that  Minnie  should  come  to  him. 

All  night  Sarah  tossed  from  side  to  side,  hardly  daring 
to  formulate  the  plan  that  burned  within  her.  In  the 
morning  she  braced  herself  to  the  execution  of  it.  As 
soon  as  Leopold  and  the  girls  left  the  house,  she  donned 
her  street  clothes  and  made  for  the  Academy  Settlement. 
If  Leopold  would  not  go  to  Minnie,  she  would  bring 
Minnie  to  him. 

Strong  as  was  her  resolution,  she  was  dragged  back  by 
doubts  and  fears  as  to  how  Minnie  would  receive  her. 
She  stopped  time  and  again  on  the  street  to  draw  a  deep 
breath.  Her  spirit  was  faint.  Her  very  soul  seemed  to 
be  graying.  When  she  reached  the  building,  she  looked 
about  cautiously  as  if  in  dread  of  an  attack,  then  en- 
tered the  vestibule,  where  she  stood  a  moment  or  two 
shifting  her  weight  from  one  foot  to  the  other.  A  man 
entered  and  she  inquired  timidly  for  the  office.  "At  the 
head  of  the  stairs."  She  waited  for  the  man  to  disap- 
pear before  she  plodded  up  the  steep  flight. 

The  office  door  was  closed.  Sarah  stood  outside  grasp- 
ing the  knob  nervously,  fearful  of  turning  it.  It  moved 
a  little,  and  she  started.  Her  upper  lip  twitched  inces- 
santly. Her  short  black  jacket  and  black  skirt,  sagging 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  443 

in  the  back,  accentuated  the  forlornness  of  her  figure.  A 
few  strands  of  hair  escaped  from  under  her  hat  and  lay 
along  the  side  of  her  cheeks.  Her  lips  were  blue,  and 
her  face,  though  pale,  looked  heated.  Small  beads  of 
perspiration  stood  out  on  her  forehead.  Whenever  she 
thought  she  heard  footsteps  she  would  look  about  the  hall 
cautiously  and  bring  a  sickly  smile  to  her  face,  thinking 
her  smile  would  make  the  object  of  her  presence  less 
obvious. 

"God  in  heaven,  will  she  chase  me  out?  Will  she  chase 
me  out?"  her  heart  cried.  The  lines  on  her  face  would 
have  made  a  stone  weep  with  sympathy. 

At  last  she  gained  the  courage  to  open  the  door  par- 
tially, but  instantly  let  it  fall  shut  again. 

Minnie,  who  was  alone  in  the  office  and  was  attracted 
by  the  mysterious  swinging  of  the  door,  was  too  preoc- 
cupied, however,  to  rise  and  investigate. 

"Minnie!  Minnele!"  Sarah  wailed  behind  the  closed 
door,  wringing  her  hands.  She  took  a  deep  breath,  and 
ventured  to  open  the  door  again,  a  little  wider.  She  con- 
trolled the  workings  of  her  face  to  frame  a  smile,  though 
the  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks,  and  thrust  her  head 
in  a  little  way. 

Minnie's  eyes  met  her  mother's.  Sarah  opened  the 
door  still  farther,  exposing  her  full  front.  Minnie  rose 
from  her  chair  and  stared,  actually  believing  that  she 
beheld  an  apparition. 

Sarah  entered  quickly,  letting  the  door  fall  shut  behind 
her. 

"What's  the  matter,  mama?"  cried  Minnie,  rushing  to 
her,  for  Sarah  looked  ghastly. 

Sarah  gulped.  Unable  to  bring  out  a  word,  she  broke 
down  in  a  fit  of  weeping.  Minnie  stood  helplessly  at  her 


444  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

side  for  a  moment  or  two,  possessed  by  that  sense  of  un- 
reality in  which  people  can  do  things  altogether  alien  to 
them.  In  all  the  periods  of  brooding  about  her  mother, 
Minnie  had  never  thought  of  reconciliation,  and  now  she 
took  her  in  her  arms  and  kissed  and  petted  her  and  talked 
caressingly. 

"Don't  cry,  mama.  Come  and  sit  down.  Don't  cry, 
mama."  She  led  Sarah  to  a  chair.  She  removed  her  hat 
and  put  the  loose  strands  of  hair  in  place,  her  heart  ach- 
ing at  their  grayness.  Minnie  bent  over  her,  put  her 
arms  about  Sarah's  shoulders  and  laid  her  head  against 
hers.  "Mama,  don't  cry.  Why  are  you  crying?"  Then, 
waiting  by  Sarah's  side,  she  stood  silent,  helpless,  pale 
and  trembling. 

It  was  fully  ten  minutes  before  Sarah  could  master  her- 
self. Then  she  asked  Minnie  to  sit  down  and  wanted  to 
know  if  there  was  any  objection  to  her  being  there,  if  she 
was  taking  Minnie's  time  against  the  rules  of  the  insti- 
tution. Minnie,  eager  to  put  her  mother  at  ease,  reas- 
sured her  with  feigned  sprightliness. 

At  last  Sarah  spoke  of  the  purpose  of  her  coming. 

"Your  uncle,"  she  said,  "is  going  to  South  Africa.  It 
is  a  long  way  and  you  may  never  see  him  again.  If  any- 
one was  at  fault  for  the  past,  I  was  more  to  blame  than 
he.  God  forgives,  too.  Come  and  say  good-by  to  him 
and  let  him  sail  with  a  glad  heart.  He  loves  you.  It  will 
make  me  happy,  too." 

The  sight  of  a  proud  person  humbled  in  repentance  is 
keen  misery.  Minnie  suffered  at  seeing  her  mother  so 
reduced.  It  was  too  much  for  her  in  her  overwrought 
condition.  A  great  faintness  was  stealing  upon  her ;  she 
made  a  prodigious  effort  not  to  succumb  and  said  huskily 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  445 

that  she  herself  had  been  to  blame;  she  had  been  too 
young  to  know  better. 

The  two  were  silent,  struggling  to  conquer  a  multitude 
of  emotions. 

Voices  sounded  in  the  hall,  and  Minnie,  thinking  she 
heard  Dr.  Evangel  and  not  wanting  him  to  find  her  idle, 
hurriedly  assured  Sarah  that  she  would  come  that  very 
evening.  Sarah,  assuming  that  Minnie  wanted  her  to 
leave,  rose,  but  the  voices  receded,  and  Minnie,  who 
feared  that  she  might  have  appeared  anxious  for  her 
mother  to  leave  and  have  hurt  her  feelings,  urged 
her  to  stay,  and  mustered  up  a  fictitious  vivacity.  She 
chatted  about  all  her  affairs,  her  proposals  of  marriage, 
her  lovely  position,  and,  finally,  to  enliven  Sarah  par- 
ticularly, told  of  Chayim  Schlopoborsky,  upon  whom,  she 
remembered  clearly,  Sarah  had  many  a  time  wished  ill 
luck.  Now  was  the  moment  when  she  could  have  her 
satisfaction.  To  Minnie's  surprise,  however,  Sarah  only 
looked  away  and  muttered  mournfully : 

"Poor  man !    Poor,  poor  man !" 

What  had  changed  her  mother  so?  Minnie  wondered 
sadly. 

"My  dear  child,"  Sarah  broke  out  after  a  pause,  "Mr. 
Caplan  is  a  rich  man ;  you  are  a  poor,  homeless  girl,  and 
you  are  not  very  strong.  You  were  in  the  Helina  Hei- 
math  once.  Look  how  pale  and  thin  you  are.  All  you 
need  is  a  few  years  of  hard  work  and  what  is  to  pre- 
vent you  from  landing  there  a  second  time  ?  You  should 
think  carefully  before  you  throw  such  a  chance  over." 
The  mother  sighed  and  wiped  her  eyes.  A  feeling  of  ill 
omen  shot  through  Minnie,  followed  by  an  almost  over- 
powering faintness.  She  had  a  flitting  wish  that  her 
mother  would  leave.  Simultaneously  Sarah  rose  saying 


446  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

that  she  had  better  go.  Minnie  accompanied  her  to  the 
door,  where  Sarah  made  her  reiterate  her  promise  to 
visit  them  that  very  evening.  She  kissed  her  daughter 
and  left. 

Before  Minnie  had  time  to  overcome  the  effects  of  the 
momentous  visit,  Mr.  Grave  came  skipping  up  the  stairs 
and  bounded  into  the  office.  Minnie  stared  at  him  un- 
seeingly.  Mr.  Grave,  who  had  no  eyes  for  the  girl's 
startling  pallor,  cried  happily : 

"Say,  Miss  Friskie,  what  do  you  think  ?  The  best  girl 
in  the  world  is  coming  this  afternoon."  He  took  a  tele- 
gram from  his  pocket.  "It's  a  great  surprise  to  me. 
She's  coming — Marjorie  Bell — we're  engaged,  you 
know."  He  fairly  danced  about  the  room. 

The  ground  slipped  from  beneath  Minnie's  feet,  some- 
thing whirled  round  and  round  in  her  brain.  Then  every- 
thing became  a  big  black  blur. 

She  found  herself  in  bed  at  the  Young  Ladies'  Lodge. 
It  was  the  day  after  her  promised  visit  home. 


LIII 

When  at  half-past  eight  Minnie  had  not  yet  come, 
Sarah,  a  little  worried,  said  to  Leopold:  "Maybe  she  is 
detained  in  the  office."  By  nine  o'clock  she  felt  very  un- 
comfortable and  maintained  silence.  By  half-past  nine  a 
horrid  suspicion  possessed  her — a  suspicion  that  her 
daughter  had  only  pretended  friendliness  and  had  lied 
when  she  had  said  she  would  come.  She  kept  her  eyes 
averted  from  Leopold's  and  started  at  every  sound  in  the 
hall.  At  half-past  ten  she  turned  to  Leopold  in  a  frenzy 
of  indignation,  and  cried:  "Did  you  ever  meet  with  such 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  447 

confounded  duplicity  in  your  life?"  Leopold,  full  of 
pity  for  his  wife,  turned  away  and  said  nothing. 

Four  days  later,  a  few  hours  after  Leopold  had  em- 
barked for  South  Africa,  a  postal  card  came  from  Min- 
nie, purposely  couched  in  the  past  tense  in  order  to  spare 
her  mother  worry,  explaining  that  she  had  been  ill  and 
saying  she  hoped  to  visit  them  in  a  few  days.  As  Sarah 
had  told  Minnie  just  when  Leopold  would  sail,  the  girl's 
apparent  evasiveness  incensed  her  so  that  jhe  tore  the 
card  into  bits  and  flung  it  from  her  as  though  it  were  a 
reptile. 

After  this  Minnie's  name  might  not  be  mentioned  in 
the  household;  Ida  certainly,  and  even  Beckie,  were  im- 
bued with  their  mother's  sense  of  outrage.  Ida  took  it 
upon  herself  to  write  Minnie  a  note  telling  her  that  they 
were  "on"  to  her  tricks. 

It  had  taken  much  effort  for  Minnie  to  shake  off  her 
torpidity  and  write  the  card.  After  it  was  despatched 
she  lay  back  in  bed  wondering  who  of  the  family  would 
come  to  see  her.  The  next  day  the  letter  in  Ida's  hand- 
writing was  brought  to  her;  for  no  definite  reason  the 
sight  of  it  filled  her  with  misgivings.  Everything  now, 
voices,  footsteps,  the  faintest  sounds  set  her  heart  gal- 
loping. 

She  took  in  the  contents  of  the  letter  in  a  blurred  sort 
of  way,  for  after  the  first  sentence  or  two  her  mind 
seemed  to  stop  functioning.  She  read  it  again.  Each 
word  stung,  tore,  cut.  .  .  .  She  let  it  drop  from  her 
hands  and  fell  in  a  heap  upon  the  bed  weeping  and  moan- 
ing until  she  was  exhausted.  .  .  .  When  she  recovered 
herself,  she  did  as  Sarah  had  done  with  her  card ;  tore  the 
letter  into  tiny  pieces  and  flung  it  from  her  as  though  it 
were  a  reptile.  They  were  a  nasty,  suspicious  lot;  she 


448          SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

would  never  in  her  life  have  anything  more  to  do  with 
them. 

As  the  next  few  days  brought  no  change  in  her  con- 
dition, she  sent  word  to  Ella  Liebman,  who,  in  turn,  sent 
word  to  Abraham,  and  the  two  consulted  with  the  physi- 
cian. His  diagnosis  was  "nervous  prostration."  By  their 
prompt  endeavors  Minnie  was  despatched  to  a  New  Jer- 
sey hill,  where  diversion,  rest,  fresh  air,  good  food  were 

to  work  her  recovery. 

****** 

For  weeks  Minnie  lay  unable  to  exert  herself.  She 
would  wonder  and  wonder,  as  her  mother  long  ago  had 
wondered  about  Elias,  how  she  had  become  so  ill  when 
it  seemed  as  if  she  had  felt  well  only  the  day  before  her 
collapse.  She  had  forgotten  how  for  weeks  she  had 
dragged  herself  around  and  had  hidden  her  exhaustion 
beneath  chatter  and  laughter.  We  always  reach  the  end 
of  our  tether  unexpectedly. 

She  was  so  tremulous  now,  so  constantly  beset  by 
fears  and  worries !  She  hated  herself  for  being  afraid  of 
the  least  little  thing.  Her  heart  pounded  at  the  sight  of 
anyone  and  anything;  the  prospect  of  disapproval  sent 
her  into  a  veritable  panic,  destroyed  completely  every  ves- 
tige of  her  self-confidence  and  foolishly  magnified  the 
might  of  others.  She  was  full  of  weakness  and  meek- 
ness, both  of  which  she  resented  as  if  with  another  self, 
a  stronger  and  yet  an  ineffective  self.  And  how  the 
thought  of  an  unpleasant  letter  made  her  tremble ! 

Her  friends  thought,  wrongly,  that  she  was  brooding 
over  Mr.  Grave.  The  fact  was,  he  had  been  dispelled 
from  her  mind  as  by  a  magic  wand.  She  seemed  even  to 
lack  the  power  to  think  of  him. 

"Then  what  do  you  think  about  all  the  time  while  you 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  449 

lie  silent  with  your  forehead  wrinkled  ?"  Abraham  would 
ask. 

"Nothing  especially.    I  am  so  tired  all  the  time." 

She  would  have  told  him,  had  she  thought  he  could 
understand,  of  fears  that  stole  upon  her  with  the  slimy 
wariness  of  a  burglar  in  the  night,  how  she  struggled 
against  them  furiously  as  if  in  defense  of  her  life.  She 
would  have  told  him  of  moods  of  foamy  lightness,  differ- 
ent from  the  light  moods  of  before;  they  always  held 
a  diabolic  threat,  the  threat  of  bursting  like  bubbles  and 
scattering  fears — fears 

She  feared  death — she  feared  a  mean  letter — she 
feared  a  scolding.  Fear  held  her  in  a  relentless  grip.  If 
her  breath  came  short  she  would  grow  rigid,  and  wait 
transfixed,  for  the  awful  horror,  death,  to  descend  upon 
her.  When  her  breath  came  normally  again,  she  would 
laugh  at  herself  and  reason  against  her  foolishness;  she 
would  say  to  herself,  sanely  enough,  that  death  was  the 
common  fate  of  all  and  it  mattered  little  whether  it  came 
to-day  or  later.  But  did  her  breath  come  short  again, 
her  reason  was  trampled  under  foot,  and  fear  rode  over 
her  heart  in  ruthless  disregard  of  her  sanity,  torturing 
her  so  that  only  by  the  mightiest  will  did  she  hold  from 
shrieking  for  help.  A  maniac  desire  would  possess  her 
to  run  the  full  length  of  the  universe  out  of  reach  of  the 
horrible  demon,  death.  She  would  have  wished  to  strike 
out  against  it  with  the  giant  might  of  a  beast.  .  .  .  And 
when  the  inward  struggle  was  over,  she  would  lie,  her 
face  pale,  her  energy  spent,  her  eyes  red-rimmed  and 
tearful,  her  soul  limp. 

The  agonies  of  the  damned  must  be  mild  in  compari- 
son with  the  mental  torments  of  the  patrons  of  that  com- 
monly supposed  pseudo-illness,  nervous  prostration. 


450  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Abraham  Ratkin,  who  promptly  proceeded  to  supply 
himself  with  a  store  of  information  on  the  subject  of  ner- 
vous breakdowns,  arrived  at  the  generally  accepted  theory 
that  distractions  and  activity  should  be  forced  upon  the 
patient. 

"I  don't  feel  like  walking  now." 

"But  you  must." 

Tearful,  tired,  Minnie,  outwardly  acquiescent,  would 
get  up  and  walk  until  too  exhausted  to  go  farther. 

"You  have  no  will  power." 

In  the  early  stages  of  the  illness  when  Abraham  made 
this  charge,  she  would  be  crushed  with  the  absurd  dread 
that  he  might — yes,  strike  her;  and  though  she  knew  it 
was  absurd,  she  would  cower  pitifully,  gulp  and  choke 
and  remain  silent,  struggling  against  another  terror — 
that  she  might  shriek  out  loud  and  so  betray  her  insanity. 

But  later,  when  a  little  of  her  strength  came  back,  she 
attempted  refutations. 

"You  think  I  am  sick  from  sheer  stubbornness." 

"No,  I  think  everything  depends  upon  exerting  will 
power.  If  you  would  make  up  your  mind  that  you  are 
well,  you  would  be  well." 

"But  maybe  the  reason  I  can't  make  up  my  mind  is 
because  I  am  sick." 

"You  seem  to  know  more  than  eminent  physicians." 

"I  am  having  the  experience  and  am  not  exactly  an 
idiot.  Even  a  dumb  animal  knows  when  he  feels  sick ; 
why  shouldn't  I?" 

So  their  conversations  would  always  end  in  mutual  dis- 
approval. 

Abraham,  who  now  had  no  rivals  in  devotion  to  Min- 
nie, felt  entitled  to  the  veritable  obedience  that  husbands 
may  exact.  When  he  found  Minnie  holding  to  her  own 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  451 

way  in  spite  of  her  weakness,  it  was  as  if  ice  drippings 
were  trickling  down  on  his  heart. 

Minnie,  for  her  part,  after  their  altercations,  was  left 
regretfully  brooding  over  her  part  in  them.  She  ought 
to  take  his  false  charges  in  silence,  for  who  else  was  de- 
voted to  her?  And  he  surely  meant  it  all  for  her  good. 
He  was  so  kind.  She  felt  an  ungrateful  wretch.  He 
was  the  only  one,  except  now  and  then  Ella  Liebman, 
who  ever  came  to  see  her.  Some  of  the  Settlement  folks 
had  at  first  sent  cards  and  letters.  Even  these  had  now 
ceased.  How  meaningless  their  friendliness  had  been; 
they  had  not  sincerely  cared  for  her.  How  right  Abra- 
ham had  been  about  this  and  about  Mr.  Grave,  too.  Mr. 
Grave  had  not  been  a  friend  in  earnest.  She  had  simply 
amused  him.  Now  that  she  was  sick,  he  was  over  and 
done  with  her  and  someone  else  was  amusing  him.  He 
had  sent  her  a  letter,  and  there  his  concern  had  ended.  .  .  . 
Abraham  came  every  week  to  see  her;  he  worried  and 
scurried  for  her;  he  was  a  real  friend.  Even  if  he  was 
wrong  about  some  things,  he  was  sincere  and  earnest  and 
dependable.  She  was  filled  with  solemn  appreciation, 
the  solemn  appreciation  of  goodness  that  comes  to  the 
older,  battered  ones  of  the  world.  At  his  next  visit,  she 
determined,  she  would  make  an  outward  show  of  appre- 
ciation. 

At  one  time  during  Minnie's  illness,  when  he  had  felt 
that  others  beside  himself  ought  to  be  concerned  about 
her,  Abraham  had  suggested  that  she  call  upon  her  fam- 
ily. She  had  flaied  up  resentfully.  Now  her  mildness 
of  manner  lasting  through  several  visits,  emboldened  him 
to  mention  the  matter  again,  as  it  had  become  a  fixed  idea 
of  his  that  the  best  time  for  a  reconciliation  was  while  she 
was  ill. 


452  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"You  really  ought  to  make  up  with  your  people,  Min- 
nie," he  insisted.  "They  merely  misunderstood  you." 

This  was  too  much.  In  spite  of  Minnie's  supreme  ef- 
forts at  self-control,  her  rebellious  feelings  triumphed. 

"Don't  you  realize,"  she  burst  out,  "that  they  suspected 
me  of  deceiving  them?  And  don't  you  realize  the  bru- 
tality of  Ida's  letter?  I  never,  never  want  to  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  them  again." 

Hardly  were  the  words  out  of  her  mouth  when  repent- 
ance set  in  again.  She  had  meant  always  to  be  agreeable 
to  her  good  friend. 

Abraham  frowned.  His  heart,  tired  and  tried,  re- 
sponded to  nothing  in  the  girl  but  her  sad  incorrigibility. 

They  sat  silent  for  a  long  while,  Abraham  wondering 
with  misgivings  how  it  would  be  to  have  on  his  hands 
the  rest  of  his  days  a  wife  like  Minnie,  stubborn,  with  an 
unbendable  will ;  and  Minnie  plaguing  herself  that,  con- 
trary to  her  resolutions,  she  had  again  given  offense 
where  gratitude  was  due.  "If  only  he  could  know  how 
sorry  I  am.  How  I  wish  he  would  only  understand  my 
side."  Despite  herself  other  thoughts  crept  in:  "He  has 
eyes  for  nothing  but  the  normal  and  makes  suggestions 
always  that  admirably  fit  nothing  but  the  normal.  He 
does  not  see  that  there  are  no  rules  for  exceptions.  .  .  ." 
Then  her  heart  went  back  to  him.  He  was  pale  and 
seemed  to  be  suffering.  She  wanted  to  lay  her  hand  on 
his,  to  stroke  his  hair.  Perhaps  she  ought  to  kiss  him 
good-by — then  perhaps  he  would  forgive  her  outburst. 
She  moved  her  hand  slightly  to  place  it  on  his,  but  with- 
drew it,  out  of  timidity  and  the  unprecedentedness  of 
such  a  manifestation  in  her.  Nevertheless,  impatient  with 
herself  for  her  wavering,  she  clung  to  the  thought  of  kiss- 
ing him  when  he  left.  "I'll  just  kiss  him  naturally,"  she 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  453 

reflected.  .  .  .  "I'll  say :  'Abraham,  won't  you  kiss  me  ?' 
.  .  .  I'll  say:  'Abraham,  you're  so  good,'  and  just  kiss 
him."  She  got  herself  nervous,  confused,  excited,  anx- 
ious to  have  it  over  with. 

When  finally  Abraham  rose  to  leave,  she  jumped  hast- 
ily out  of  the  hammock.  Her  breath  came  quickly.  He 
held  out  his  hand.  She  felt  as  if  danger  were  lurking. 
He  was  going — she  couldn't  say  it — he  would  never  know 
how  grateful  she  was  to  him  for  everything.  .  .  .  Her 
pulses  throbbed.  "Hurry  up!  Hurry  up!"  sounded  in 
the  turmoil  of  her  mind. 

"Kiss  me,  Abraham,"  she  said  tremulously. 

It  came  much  too  suddenly  for  Abraham,  who  was  not 
a  man  of  impulse.  He  hesitated.  An  obstruction  was 
removed,  leaving  a  clear  view  in  which  Minnie  stood  out 
a  too-easily  procurable  wife;  he  could  have  her  now,  at 
once.  But  his  desire  was  somehow  not  present.  Instead, 
there  was  a  much  increased  sense  of  the  hazards  of  a 
union  with  so  odd  a  creature.  With  schoolmasterly  pre- 
cision he  said : 

"You  had  better  control  yoursdf.  Don't  fall  in  love 
with  me  now.  We  will  wait  until  you  get  well  and  then 
talk  it  all  over."  He  fluttered  his  lids. 

Minnie  was  struck  dumb  by  an  immense  shame.  But 
somehow,  mechanically,  she  got  through  with  the  leave- 
taking,  Abraham's  figure  a  blur  before  her  eyes,  his  voice 
sounding  muffled  and  indistinct.  .  .  .  When  he  was  gone, 
she  sought  to  emerge  from  her  stupor  and  grasp  the  ac- 
tuality of  what  had  passed.  She  gave  herself  a  mental 
shake,  as  it  were.  The  humiliation  was  horrible,  hor- 
rible. She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  dropped  into 
the  hammock  shaken  by  dry  sobs.  .  .  .  The  supper-bell 
rang;  each  clang  was  a  lash  on  her  bruised  nerves.  She 


454  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

remained  with  her  head  buried  low  in  the  hammock  until 
long  after  nightfall. 

LIV 

For  three  months  the  Settlement  sent  Minnie  her 
weekly  salary.  Then  came  a  pleasant  letter  from  Dr. 
Evangel  (in  response  to  one  from  Minnie  informing  him 
that  though  the  three  months'  vacation  had  improved  her 
health  she  was  not  strong  enough  yet  to  work),  which 
said  cordially  that  she  was  to  take  as  much  vacation  as 
she  needed,  the  position  would  be  kept  open  for  her; 
but  since  it  was  now  necessary  to  engage  a  substitute  in 
her  absence,  the  Settlement  could  no  longer  continue  to 
pay  her  salary. 

When  Abraham,  a  week  later,  found  her  looking 
poorly,  he  wondered  somewhat  contritely  whether  his 
unresponsiveness  at  the  previous  visit  had  given  her  a 
setback.  Minnie,  divining  his  suspicions,  promptly  told 
him  of  Dr.  Evangel's  letter. 

Here  was  a  problem ! 

"It  was  very  nice  of  them  to  pay  me  for  as  long  as 
they  did,"  said  Minnie. 

"Yes,  it  was." 

Nevertheless,  here  was  a  problem!  Minnie  had  no 
savings. 

Abraham  sat  silent,  with  lowered,  meditative  eyes, 
which  he  raised  to  Minnie  once  or  twice  scrutinizingly.  . 

"Just  how  do  you  feel  ?"  he  asked  finally.  "Don't  you 
think  you  are  well  enough  to  go  back  to  work?  Maybe 
if  you  made  up  your  mind " 

She  was  tempted  to  say  she  would  try,  for  his  suspicion 
that  she  was  weak  of  will  somehow  always  stung  her  as 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  455 

if  it  were  a  reflection  on  her  character.  But  her  better 
sense  rose  to  warn  her  that  if  she  went  to  work  prema- 
turely she  would  break  down  again. 

"You  see,  Abraham,"  she  said,  "I  am  feeling  better 
now,  and  I  know  I  am  better.  In  the  same  way  I  would 
know  if  I  were  altogether  well.  I  think  it  would  be  un- 
safe yet  for  me  to  go  back  to  work.  I  don't  feel  strong 
enough,  but  I  will  be  soon,  I  think,  if  I  don't  have  things 
to  worry  me  and  set  me  back,  like  this  letter.  I  haver?t 
slept  for  two  nights." 

A  long  pause,  during  which  Abraham  looked  as  if  he 
were  solving  a  problem  in  higher  mathematics.  Then  he 
said: 

"You  will  have  to  take  money  from  me  until  you  think 
you  are  well  enough  to  go  back  to  the  Settlement." 

She  started.  "I  won't  go  back  to  the  Settlement,"  she 
cried  excitedly. 

"What  do  you  mean?"    Abraham  was  astonished. 

"I  have  a  feeling  of  terrible  aversion  for  anything  of 
the  old.  It's  like  thinking  of  the  dead  in  the  grave." 
She  was  in  a  panic  as  if  it  were  in  Abraham's  power  to 
force  her  to  return  to  the  Settlement  and  the  old. 

How  should  Abraham  have  known  that  it  is  from  pre- 
cisely this  aversion  for  the  old  that  the  more  fortunate,  if 
same  kind  of  sufferers  as  Minnie,  are  impelled  to  seek 
foreign  shores  and  real  diversion? 

Abraham  laughed,  not  heartily  nor  merrily ;  he  laughed 
good-naturedly  at  this  new  idiosyncracy.  Minnie  heard 
a  ring  of  Ida's  voice  in  his  laugh;  it  was  mocking  her: 
"Highfalutin — fancy — high-tone."  She  shuddered  and 
felt  the  clammy  hand  of  fear,  now  a  much  less  frequent 
visitor,  clutching  at  her  heart,  curling  itself  about  her 


456  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

spirits  like  a  serpent.     It  was  fear  of  being  outwitted  in 

her  resolution  not  to  return  to  the  Settlement. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

Abraham  had  left  the  landlady  of  the  New  Jersey  hill 
money  for  Minnie's  board  for  the  week  and  was  quite 
willing  to  pay  for  her  regularly  until  she  was  well.  As  a 
thing  apart  from  the  question  of  support,  he  told  himself, 
Minnie's  mother  and  sisters  ought  to  be  made  to  realize 
that  she  was  really  sick  and  that  they  were  guilty  of  neg- 
lect. If  he  had  been  as  close  to  them  as  to  Minnie,  he 
would  have  urged  them,  instead  of  Minnie,  to  take  the 
first  step  toward  reconciliation. 

After  deliberation,  he  paid  the  Mendels  a  visit. 

They  met  his  suggestion  with  a  tirade ;  he  was  lending 
his  protection  to  a  traitor  and  pretender.  They  swept 
the  air  with  their  respective  hands  and  vowed  it  made 
no  difference  to  them  if  she  died.  Indeed,  they  were  cer- 
tain she  would  surely  outlive  them.  "A  convenient  bluff, 
this  nervous  prostration,"  was  the  finale. 

Abraham  would  not  have  wished  to  be  guilty  of  neg- 
lecting a  sick  person,  but  the  responsibility  of  nurturing 
imaginary  or  pretended  illness  was  just  as  bad.  While 
he  was  not  persuaded  by  the  Mendels  into  their  view, 
yet  he  found  himself  wishing  that  Minnie  would  brace  up 
and  become  her  own  keeper  again.  He  felt  as  must  the 
parent  of  a  trying  adolescent  who  looks  forward  to  the 
time  when  his  child  will  have  crossed  the  threshold  of 
safe  maturity.  He  made  no  answer  to  Sarah's  onslaught : 
"My  daughter  ?  She  is  not  my  daughter.  She  is  dead  to 
me.  A  trickster!  Only  a  girl  with  a  stone  for  a  heart 
would  have  done  such  an  outrageous  thing,  pretended  to 
be  sick  just  at  that  time.  If  she  had  said  she  did  not 
want  to  come,  it  would  not  have  been  one-thousandth  as 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  457 

vile.  I  am  through  with  her  forever."  Though  he  felt 
the  injustice  of  the  accusation,  he  could  not  muster  up 
the  righting  spirit  to  convince  this  infuriated  mother  of 
her  mistake,  and  allayed  his  conscience  by  persuading 
himself  that  the  attempt  would  in  any  event  be  futile.  .  .  . 
Anyway,  the  Mendels  disgusted  him. 

He  walked  home  slowly,  weighted  down  by  his  respon- 
sibility. For  the  first  time  since  matters  had  assumed 
their  abnormal  course,  he  frankly  and  clearly  hoped  that 
Minnie  was  not  in  love  with  him.  He  wondered  how  it 
was  he  had  never  before  realized  their  incompatibility 
and  had  overlooked  the  intrinsic,  basic  deficiencies  of  the 
Mendels'  morals.  Minnie  would  as  certainly,  he  felt, 
develop  into  a  Sarah  as  two  peas  develop  alike  in  a  pod. 
He  found  himself  shrinking  from  the  thought  of  her  as 
a  wife.  Abraham's  soul  craved  a  loving,  tender  crea- 
ture, domestic  peace  and  harmony. 

LV 

The  next  day  the  Mendels,  in  a  cooler  mood,  discussed 
Minnie  among  themselves  and  decided  with  all  generosity 
that,  to  be  on  the  safe  side  so  far  as  their  moral  respon- 
sibility was  concerned,  they  had  better  send  her  five  dol- 
lars to  help  her  with  her  expenses.  Ida  undertook  to 
execute  the  family's  resolution.  With  the  money  went 
•an  epistle.  Minnie  was  not  to  believe  she  could  have  a 
single  cent  more,  Ida  wrote ;  and  as  for  her  nervous  pros- 
tration, its  elements  were  imagination,  exaggeration  and 
affectation  ;  she  couldn't  fool  them!  If  Abraham  had  any 
sense,  she  couldn't  fool  him  either ;  and  if  he  chose  to 
spoil  her  he  could  do  so  on  his  own  money,  not  theirs. 

In  the  violent  rush  of  indignation  that  swept  upon  Min- 


45§  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

nie  when  she  read  the  letter,  she  came  near  tearing  it  up, 
five-dollar  bill  and  all,  but — what  was  that  about  Abra- 
ham? What  had  Abraham  to  do  with  it?  She  read  the 
letter  again.  No  other  conclusion  than  the  right  one  was 
possible.  She  marvelled  at  his  audacity ;  outrage  tore  at 
her  soul.  .  .  .  On  the  spur  of  an  impulse  she  snatched 
a  sheet  of  paper  and  wrote  Ida :  "Go  to  hell  and  use  the 
five  dollars  to  pay  your  way,"  and  thrust  the  currency 
bill,  along  with  the  note,  into  an  envelope.  Too  spent  by 
the  burst  of  frenzy  to  post  it  immediately,  she  dropped 
heavily  into  a  chair  at  the  window  and  looked  out.  The 
tree-tops  which  seemed  so  merrily  to  be  reaching  to  the 
sky  drew  her  eyes,  and  she  stared  and  stared  without 
moving,  thoughts  of  all  sorts  staggering  through  her 
mind.  Envy  of  these  living  things  which  did  not  know 
of  the  sordidness  of  human  relations  brought  tears  to 
her  eyes.  For  the  first  time  in  months  she  thought  of 
Gregory  Chernin,  of  the  fineness  of  soul  that  his  whole 
personality  distilled,  and  she  felt  an  at-oneness  with  him, 
a  yearning  and  a  craving  for  contact  with  the  beautiful. 
All  her  anger  mellowed  into  a  sadness,  into  a  depressing 
realization  that  she  was  a  foreigner  in  her  world,  a  mis- 
fit. She  rose,  took  the  note  she  had  written,  tore  it  up 
and  returned  the  money  without  explanation. 

When  Abraham  came  the  next  Sunday  she  could 
hardly  wait  to  question  him. 

He  flushed  and  dropped  his  eyes.  "Why  ?"  he  asked. 
"Did  any  of  them  come  to  see  you  or  did  they  send  you 
money  ?" 

"They  sent  me  money." 

His  eyelids  fluttered  with  pleasure.  His  visit  had,  after 
all,  been  effective.  The  Mendels  were  not  as  bad  as 
their  bark. 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  459 

"Well,"  he  said,  "then  you  should  be  satisfied." 

"You  really  were  there  then?" 

"Yes.  I  could  not  see  that  there  was  anything  else  to 
do.  They  owe  it  to  you  to  look  out  for  you  when  you  are 
sick.  If  I  were  not  your  friend,  for  example,  what  would 
you  do  then?  It  is  their  duty,  their  moral  duty,  to  take 
care  of  you." 

Minnie's  blood  rushed  to  her  face. 

"But  I  did  not  give  you  permission  to  go.  Ida  sent 
me  a  note  along  with  the  money  and,  it  seems,  she  spoke 
for  the  family ;  she  wrote  as  though  I  had  sent  you  to  beg 
for  me.  She  said  they  were  sending  me  five  dollars  and 
would  not  send  me  one  cent  more,  that  I  need  not  ask 
for  more.  How  do  you  suppose  I  feel?" 

Abraham  was  shocked,  staggered.  His  mission  had 
been  too  well  meant  for  such  results.  His  lips  opened 
once,  twice,  and  made  no  sound. 

They  were  silent  for  some  time,  cogitating.  Minnie 
concluded  that  Abraham's  recourse  to  the  family  came 
from  his  unwillingness  to  pay  her  board. 

"I  am  sorry  it  turned  out  so  badly,"  Abraham  broke  in 
on  her  thought.  "I  meant  well.  You  must  not  think  I 
went  because  I  want  to  be  relieved  of  the  financial  re- 
sponsibility I  have  undertaken." 

Minnie  made  no  reply,  but  when,  on  leaving,  he  handed 
her  a  roll  of  bills,  she  refused  to  take  them,  and  all  his 
efforts  to  persuade  her  were  vain. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  he  asked,  truly  dis- 
tressed. 

She  tried  to  evade,  but  upon  his  insisting  said : 

"I  lent  a  friend  money  once,  and  now  that  /  am  in 
need  she  will  return  the  courtesy,  I  feel  sure."  More 
quietly  she  added :  "As  soon  as  I  go  back  to  work,  I  will 


460  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

return  everything  I  have  borrowed."  Her  tone  forbade 
arguing. 

A  shade  of  a  shadow  of  relief  flitted  across  Abraham's 
face  as  he  placed  the  bills  back  into  his  pocket  with  a  light 
sigh. 

She  sat  for  a  long  time  after  he  left  immersed  in 
thought.  She  had  slaved  from  very  infancy,  and  now 
that  she  was  used  up  she  was  nobody's  responsibility. 
She  had  served  the  world  as  a  worker,  yet  the  same  world 
seemed  to  consider  it  none  of  its  business  that  she  had 
worn  herself  out  serving  it.  If  it  was  possible  for  her  to 
scramble  up  again,  well  and  good,  it  seemed  to  say ;  and 
if  not,  well  and  good,  too.  And  yet  as  soon  as  she  was 
again  equipped,  this  world  would  commandeer  her  work- 
ing powers  once  more.  "What  an  awfully  unfair  game !" 
She  seemed  to  be  living  through  an  immense  moment — 
one  of  those  moments  during  which  life  flares  up  in  great 
gleams.  .  .  .  "Only  a  hair's  breadth  divides  me  from  the 
Helina  Heimath,  from  the  Peoples  Charities.  ...  As  if 
it  is  my  fault  that  the  world  did  not  remunerate  me  for 
my  best  efforts  sufficiently  so  that  I  could  provide  against 
this  emergency ;  and  the  world  has  the  right  to  punish 
me  besides  by  making  me  an  object  of  to-day's  charity — 
equal  to  the  slops  thrown  a  pig.  .  .  .  Something's  wrong 
somewhere.  .  .  ."  She  seemed  to  hear  Gregory  Chernin 
agreeing  with  her ;  she  seemed  to  feel  his  presence  close, 
his  soul  at  one  with  hers,  as  if  he  of  all  the  world  felt 
with  her.  .  .  .  She  wondered  where  he  could  be  at  that 
very  moment — perhaps  thinking  of  her,  too.  ...  By  a 
swift  combination  of  thought  and  emotion  she  began  to 
wonder  whether  Boston  wouldn't  be  a  better  place  to  go 
to  than  New  York.  New  York  loomed  up  grimy,  hold- 
ing nothing  more  for  her  than  a  repetition  of  the  old  hard- 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  461 

ships,  terminating  in  another  spell  of  sickness.  It  would 
be  getting  up  in  the  morning,  with  the  subway  crush  and 
the  nightly  rush  to  get  home  in  time  for  supper;  with 
the  evening  either  empty  or  spent  at  work  in  the  Settle- 
ment, or  in  a  stuffy  theater,  or  listening  to  the  false  charm 
of  music — false  because  it  stirred  a  multitude  of  divine 
emotions  which  would  only  go  to  smash  in  the  morrow's 
drabness.  .  .  .  The  prospect  of  all  this  over  again  filled 
her  with  unmitigated  aversion.  She  marvelled  now  that 
so  many  people  were  willing  to  live  exactly  that  sort  of 
thing  for  a  whole  lifetime.  .  .  .  "Boston  has  such  lovely 
suburbs,  everybody  says.  Maybe  I  can  get  work  in 
one.  .  .  ."  Her  heart  swelled  with  hopes. 

LVI 

Poverty,  the  devoted  cur,  is  not  to  be  shaken  off  by  a 
mere  change  of  locality. 

Minnie  reached  Boston  with  only  five  dollars  in  her 
pocket  and  enough  experience  to  know  she  was  standing 
on  thin  ice,  but  an  unshaken  will  not  to  take  more  money 
from  Ella  Liebman,  kind  and  urgent  though  she  had  been. 
Minnie  was  depending  upon  the  Fates  to  be  quick  in  find- 
ing her  work,  and  quick  they  were.  Though  exhausted 
from  the  trip,  she  went  straight  from  the  railroad  station 
to  an  employment  agency  and  was  promptly  engaged  as 
stenographer  by  a  Mr.  Little  of  Little's  Hotel.  She  saw 
in  this  good  luck  a  desire  on  the  part  of  the  Supreme 
Being  to  redeem  Himself,  and  out  of  sheer  gratitude  she 
could  have  hugged  the  telephone  to  her  breast  when  Mr. 
Little's  voice  came  through  the  receiver  saying:  "I  shall 

expect  you  then  this  evening  at  eight  o'clock." 
****** 

Little's  Hotel,  in  one  of  Boston's  lovely  suburbs,  with 


462  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

the  very  best  service  and  fare  to  recommend  it,  boasted 
of  even  more  to  do  the  same.  What  this  was  Minnie 
did  not  learn  until  after  she  had  been  in  Mr.  Little's  em- 
ploy two  weeks,  had  written  Abraham  that  all  his  fears 
had  been  groundless,  as  she  was  ideally  placed,  had  sent 
three  joyous  missives  to  Ella  Liebman,  and  had  decided 
that  she  was  quite  the  luckiest  person  in  the  world.  Then 
came  knowledge  and  a  turn  in  her  affairs.  Mr.  Little 
asked  her  to  read  proof  of  a  new  edition  of  the  hotel's 
descriptive  booklet. 

"HEBREWS,  DOGS,  CONSUMPTIVES,  AND  OTHER  OBJEC- 
TION ABLES  NOT  ACCOMMODATED/' 

Minnie  looked  at  "Hebrews"  with  the  incredulity  with 
which  one  views  one's  own  name  in  print,  and  tried  to 
associate  it,  for  its  serious  meaning,  with  the  last  words, 
"not  accommodated."  From  some  perverse  impulse  she 
wanted  to  laugh,  and  smiled  in  compromise.  She  held 
the  proof  off  at  arm's  length.  "Gracious!  What  can  it 
mean?"  she  asked  herself,  and  decided  to  put  the  ques- 
tion to  Mr.  Little.  But  Mr.  Little  always  wore  such  a 
drawn  brow,  as  if  something  provoked  him,  and  had  such 
an  intimidating,  way  of  looking  over  the  heads  of  his  em- 
ployees that  she  could  not  pluck  up  the  courage  to  ap- 
proach him. 

The  matter  lingered  with  her  like  a  bad  odor,  though 
she  made  every  effort  to  forget  it,  and  tried  to  persuade 
herself  that  it  must  apply  only  to  the  unrefined.  But — 
her  mind  carried  her  on  with  faultless  logic — there  were 
unrefined  Italians,  unrefined  Irish,  unrefined  Americans, 
too.  The  booklet  did  not  discriminate  against  these.  All 
Jews  were  referred  to.  It  was  difficult  to  accept  the  fact. 

A  few  days  later  Mr.  Little  turned  a  perplexed  face 
upon  Minnie,  with  whom  he  was  alone  in  the  office. 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  463 

"Miss  Mendel,"  he  asked,  "have  you  ever  heard  the 
name  Pashenz  ?  Does  it  sound  Hebrew  to  you  ?" 

Minnie's  color  rose.  She  straightened  her  shoulders 
and  rested  her  eyes  on  him. 

"No,  it  does  not." 

al  didn't  think  so  either.  But  this  is,"  he  said,  holding 
up  another  letter  signed  Moskowitz. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  replied  Minnie  quietly. 

Mr.  Little  faced  his  desk  again. 

Minnie,  stiffened  into  immobility  by  a  prickling  swarm 
of  peculiar  sensations,  sat  staring  at  his  back.  Presently 
he  turned  and  asked  her  to  take  dictation.  She  crossed 
over  to  him  with  an  unconscious  air  of  haughtiness,  a  lit- 
tle above  herself. 

To  Mr.  Pashenz  went  a  letter  offering  him  the  widest 
choice  of  rooms.  Mr.  Moskowitz  was  told  that  the  hotel 
was  crowded  to  its  capacity. 

She  walked  back  to  her  desk  listlessly,  overcome  by  a 
new  kind  of  depression,  in  which  feeling  for  self  was  ex- 
alted to  a  lofty  sympathy  with  others.  For  the  first  time 
she  realized  she  was  Jewish,  that  there  was  a  Jewish 
world,  distinct  and  apart,  which  suffered  and  was  at  the 
mercy  of  others.  She  felt  the  fibers  of  her  heart  branch- 
ing out. 

"You  are  a  Jew,"  the  keys  of  the  typewriter  clicked, 
"you  are  not  welcome  here."  The  cloud  that  had  lifted 
for  the  two  brief  weeks  descended  again,  seeming  to  gloat 
in  its  smugness.  "What  will  you  do?  You  cannot  stay 
here!"  Tears  came  to  her  eyes.  "You  have  no  money 
and  you  are  not  altogether  well  and  you  have  no  place  to 
go  to,"  the  keys  clicked  on  melancholically.  She  felt  like 
a  beast  with  a  bit  much  too  thick  for  its  mouth.  She  was 
aghast  at  the  problem  that  faced  her. 


464  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"Are  all  Christians  like  Mr.  Little?"  she  asked  the 
clicking  keys.  "No  one  at  the  Settlement  was  like  Mr. 
Little.  Doctor  Evangel  wasn't.  No  one  was — not  Mr. 

Grave "  She  rapped  the  keys  for  mentioning  this 

name.  The  keys  redeemed  themselves.  "Mr.  Maloney 
was  a  Christian,  and  he  loved  you  and  wanted  to  marry 
you.  He  certainly  did  not  hold  your  Jewishness  against 
you."  Minnie  smiled  at  her  whimsical  conversation  with 
the  keys,  and  for  a  moment  felt  as  if  Mr.  Maloney's 
spirit  were  hovering  over  her  protectively  against  Mr. 
Little.  When  Mr.  Maloney's  spirit  departed,  she  felt 
lonely.  "Oh,  dear!"  she  thought,  "I  ought  not  to  have 
gone  away  from  everybody  I  know.  Abraham  was 
right."  She  wiped  tears  away  so  that  she  could  type  the 
letter  to  Mr.  Moskowitz  telling  him  there  was  no  room 
for  him  at  Little's  Hotel.  Abraham  was  right  about  many 
things,  she  suddenly  saw.  The  keys  clicked  to  her  in  his 
words : 

"Thus  has  all  your  race  been  hounded  throughout  the 
•centuries.  Thus  have  they  come  by  their  despised  faults, 
aggressiveness,  greed,  servility.  These  are  their  weapons 
of  self-defense." 

Things  personal  to  her  seemed  to  shrink,  while  her 
heart  expanded  with  what  was  akin  to  maternal  love  for 
the  Schlopoborskys  of  the  world,  the  Henry  Street  neigh- 
bors, the  Morris  Caplans. 

LVII 

The  physical  geography  of  Mr.  Pashenz  proclaimed 
him  a  member  of  the  unwelcome  race.  Mr.  Little  was 
provoked.  Of  course,  it  was  not  Minnie's  fault,  he  al- 
lowed; the  man's  misdemeanor  was  not  written  in  his 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  465 

name.  But  Mr.  Little  instructed  Minnie  to  be  miserly  of 
civility  to  the  gentleman.  That,  he  said,  was  his  success- 
ful method  for  giving  an  unwelcome  guest  to  understand 
that  he  was  to  take  himself  off. 

Minnie's  color  rose  furiously.  A  thousand  different 
feelings  seemed  to  explode  in  her  heart.  She  jumped 
from  her  seat  and,  contrary  to  a  well-thought-out  reso- 
lution to  remain  in  her  present  position  until  the  last  of 
the  month,  when  her  salary  would  afford  her  a  margin 
of  safety,  she  burst  out : 

"Mr.  Little,  you  had  better  get  someone  to  take  my 
place.  I  am  a  Jew,  too."  Contempt  rang  in  her  voice 
and  blazed  in  her  eyes. 

Mr.  Little,  shaken  out  of  his  equilibrium,  looked  up  at 
her  without  replying.  He  tchicked  his  lips  in  sheer  em- 
barrassment. Then,  after  a  moment's  pause,  he  said  with 
all  courtesy  and  sincerity: 

"I  am  sorry.  I  assure  you,  some  of  my  best  friends  are 
Jews,  but  in  a  hotel  they  cannot  mix." 

It  was  queer  that  some  of  his  best  friends  should  be 
Jews.  Minnie  was  muddled,  but  her  paramount  feeling 
was  of  insult. 

"I  have  Gentile  friends,  too,"  she  said  with  dignity. 
"None  of  them  were  ever  so  insulting."  Tears  of  impo- 
tence sprang  to  her  eyes. 

Mr.  Little  said  nothing  more.  Minnie  went  to  her 
room,  where  she  hastily  flung  into  her  hand-bag  all  her 
worldly  possessions  and  soon  re-appeared  for  her  salary. 
At  the  desk  she  found  Mr.  Pashenz  calling  Mr.  Little's 
attention  to  an  overcharge. 

"These  cigarettes  amount  to  $1.17.  You've  got  me 
charged  with  $1.27." 

Mr.  Little  rectified  the  error  with  perfect  courtesy  but 


466  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER f 

with  a  faint  expression  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
which  said: 

"You'd  think  it  was  ten  dollars.  Not  a  cent  ever  es- 
capes them." 

It  was  Minnie's  turn. 

"Let's  see,"  said  Mr.  Little,  "your  salary  is  thirty  dol- 
lars a  month.  You  are  leaving  two  days  in  advance — 
that's  about  $27.50  due  you."  He  made  a  rapid  calcula- 
tion. "No,  $27.09." 

Turning  to  leave,  Minnie  found  herself  facing  Mr. 
Pashenz,  an  undersized  man,  with  dark,  melancholy  eyes, 
out  of  which  he  looked  from  down  up  as  if  probing  space. 

"You're  not  wanted  here,"  was  on  the  tip  of  her 
tongue. 

Around  the  man's  mouth  played  a  cynical  smile,  which 
threatened  a  hard,  bitter  laugh.  Minnie  lowered  her  head 
and  hastened  out.  A  few  moments  afterwards  she  was 
on  a  car  bound  for  Boston. 

She  reached  the  city  late  in  the  afternoon  and  stood 
irresolutely  looking  up  and  down  the  street.  Her  hat 
was  blown  slightly  askew,  some  loose  strands  of  hair 
straggled  over  her  eyes  and  down  her  cheeks.  Her  hand- 
bag, pulling  her  lop-sided,  gave  the  appearance  of  being 
heavier  than  it  actually  was.  Her  face  was  wan.  She 
was  a  forlorn  figure.  With  the  timidity  of  a  sensitive 
person  with  whom  insult  lingers  she  approached  a  police- 
man and  asked  him  if  he  could  recommend  a  place  for 
her  to  stay  overnight.  It  would  have  taken  less  keenness 
than  this  shrewd  officer's  to  observe  that  his  customer 
was  of  the  class  that  toil  and  spin.  Her  worn  raiment 
identified  her. 

"There's  the  Elizabeth  Home  for  Girls,  Miss,"  he  said 
and  let  the  statement  hang  in  midair  until  Minnie  say- 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  467 

ing  "Thank  you,"  he  straightened  up  in  the  way  of  a 
policeman  when  he  would  like  to  vaunt  his  omniscience. 
He  directed  her,  swinging  his  club  expansively. 

One  can  never  be  sure  in  Boston  when  a  simple  errand 
will  resolve  itself  into  a  journey,  a  tour,  a  pilgrimage. 
You  feel  like  a  spinning  top  as  you  wind  your  way 
through  the  puzzlesome  streets.  By  the  time  Minnie 
finally  reached  the  Elizabeth  Home  she  had  been  re- 
signed to  the  fictitious  existence  of  such  a  Home  and 
her  doubts  had  been  strong  as  to  whether  Boston  em- 
braced more  than  the  one  corner  from  which  she  had 
started  out  an  X-number  of  times. 

The  Elizabeth  Home  and  the  Young  Ladies'  Lodge 
were  identical  in  character,  with  the  exception  that  the 
Elizabeth  Home  was  a  strictly  Christian  institution,  as 
proclaimed  by  a  large  oil  painting  of  the  crucified  Saviour 
in  the  lobby. 

The  lady  stationed  at  a  desk  in  the  hall  to  receive  new- 
comers wore  somber  black  and  a  facial  expression  that 
would  have  dampened  the  spirits  of  a  sunny  day.  Since 
the  institution  was,  first  and  foremost,  respectable,  each 
prospective  guest  was  required  to  state  her  pedigree  and 
give  information  on  such  personal  points  as  the  church 
she  attended  and  the  regularity  of  her  attendance. 

When  an  outlaw  escapes  from  one  officer  of  the  peace 
only  to  fall  into  the  clutches  of  another,  he  must  experi- 
ence some  such  sensation  as  did  Minnie  at  the  last  ques- 
tion. Her  heart  gave  a  leap,  her  eyes  a  swift  dart  to  the 
door.  She  had  the  impulse  to  give  the  somber  little  lady 
a  neat  slap  in  the  face  and  run  away.  But  the  beauty  of 
normal  people  is  that  their  criminal  and  insane  impulses 
come  like  lightning  and  are  dispelled  like  a  whiff. 


468  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"I  am  a  Jewess,"  Minnie  replied  quietly,  "I  do  not  go 
to  church." 

The  lady  floundered,  then  expressed  herself  as  having 
no  objection  to  Minnie  personally ;  the  institution,  how- 
ever, made  sectarianism  a  principle ;  but,  of  course,  since 
she  was  a  stranger  in  the  city  and  night  was  advancing, 
she  could  remain,  and  every  effort  would  be  made  for 
her  comfort  and  every  help  extended  to  find  another 
home  for  her  in  the  morning. 

No  queerer  place  than  this  world  seemed  possible. 
Minnie  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  looked  hard  at  the 
little  woman  in  somber  black.  Had  all  of  the  world's 
lunatics  been  dumped  in  Massachusetts?  A  smile  played 
on  Minnie's  lips,  in  her  heart  was  a  moan.  Could  she 
have  seen  herself  at  that  moment,  she  would  have  recog- 
nized Mr.  Pashenz'  own  expression. 

She  rose,  picked  up  her  hand-bag,  thanked  the  little 
lady,  and  said  she  would  find  another  place.  The  little 
lady  followed  her  to  the  door,  assuring  her  again  with  all 
courtesy  that  she  was  welcome  for  the  night  if  she  cared 
to  remain. 

An  exaggerated  calm  possessed  Minnie,  the  calm  that 
comes  from  the  realization  that  in  calm  alone  lies  safety. 
"It's  no  use  zu  talkin' " — in  dark  moods  she  joked  with 
herself  in  Morris  Caplan's  lingo ;  at  this  moment  she  ex- 
perienced a  fleeting  homesickness  for  him — "I'm  up 
against  it  more  than  I  bargained  for."  The  very  terror 
that  struck  at  her  heart  warned  her  to  keep  her  mind 
clear.  She  was  alone  in  a  big  city ;  it  was  dusk  already. 

Across  the  street  was  a  park.  She  was  very  tired  and 
would  rest  there  a  moment.  On  the  nearest  bench  sat  a 
woman,  a  little  farther  away,  on  another  bench,  was  a 
man  with  his  back  turned.  The  woman,  looking  up  as 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  469 

Minnie  approached,  so  greatly  suggested  the  somber  lady 
of  the  Elizabeth  Home  that  Minnie  was  taken  by  a  freak- 
ish impulse. 

"Madam,"  said  she,  smiling  and  bowing  deferentially, 
"have  you  any  objections  to  my  sitting  beside  you?  I 
am  a  Jew." 

The  weazened  little  woman  lifted  a  thoroughly  scared 
face.  She  rose  and  edged  away  cautiously  from  this 
lunatic. 

At  the  first  word  from  Minnie's  lips  the  solitary  man 
sitting  on  the  next  bench  turned  round  and  stared.  A 
look  of  delight  lit  up  his  face.  He  rose  and  stepped 
towards  Minnie,  whose  eyes,  following  the  retreating 
little  figure  in  black,  encountered  his. 

"Gregory!" 

"Minnie !"     He  took  her  in  his  arms. 

LVIII 

The  train  was  speeding  through  a  spring  landscape. 
It  was  a  day  of  burgeoning.  The  trees  swelling  out  of 
their  winter  starkness,  the  fresh  green  blades  peeping  out 
where  the  dead  brown  leaves  had  been  swirled  away  by 
the  wind,  the  tender  spikes  of  forest  growth  pricking  up 
out  of  the  black  soil  all  seemed  to  say:  "We  are  alive 
again." 

Looking  out  of  the  train  window  Minnie  felt  her  soul 
akin  to  this  budding  joyousness.  Like  a  mother,  whose 
attention  is  engaged  elsewhere,  by  half  conscious  effort 
discourages  a  child's  interruption,  she  discouraged  a 
minor  note  of  melancholy  that  tugged  at  her  heart.  How 
impossible  it  was  to  realize  with  dear  Gregory  sitting 
there  beside  her,  holding  her  hand,  smiling  his  all-embrac- 
ing smile  whenever  she  raised  her  eyes  to  him,  that  a 


470  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

blight  was  eating  at  their  spring  joyousness!  He  did  not 
even  look  like  a  sick  man.  His  color  was  better,  his  eyes 
brighter  than  on  the  night  of  the  street  meeting.  But 
mercy,  the  eyes  were  too  bright,  the  color  too  good !  A 
pain  like  a  sharp,  thin  needle  drilled  through  her  heart, 
and  the  spring  landscape  merged  with  an  autumnal  wind 
that  groaned  weirdly :  "Your  lover  is  sick ;  the  Alkrusht 
Sanitarium  for  him." 

To  divert  her  mind,  she  turned  to  Gregory  and  said: 

"By  the  way,  dear,  I  wrote  Dr.  Judson  that  I  am  a 
Protestant." 

Gregory  smiled.  It  was  a  joke  between  them  that 
he  had  saved  her  from  the  maws  of  sectarianism  by  tak- 
ing her  with  him  to  his  own  boarding-house  where  there 
had  happened  to  be  a  room  vacant.  In  order  to  be  with 
him  at  Saranac  she  had  applied  for  a  position  as  secre- 
tary and,  since  a  Protestant  was  required,  she  had 
promptly  subscribed  to  the  faith. 

"You're  a  little  liar,"  said  Gregory,  "what  would  Mr. 
Little  say?" 

She  would  have  sworn  her  soul  away  to  be  with  him. 
She  pressed  his  hand  and  smiled  up  at  him  wistfully,  and 
such  a  passionate  yearning  to  save  this  dear  one  from  ill 
fate  welled  up  in  her  that  the  tender  words  fairly  burst 
from  her  lips : 

"Oh,  Gregory,  dear,  I  love  you  so !" 

He  looked  down  on  her  tenderly  for  a  moment  and 
then  looked  away. 

Oh,  if  she  could  only  convince  him  that  it  had  not  been 
wrong  for  him  to  admit  his  love  for  her !  She  lived  over 
again  their  hour  together  in  the  Boston  Public  Gardens 
when  his  love  avowal  had  come,  as  he  later  put  it,  inde- 
pendently of  his  better  reason.  The  night  of  the  street 
meeting  he  had  already  known  that  he  was  sick ;  and  that 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  471 

night  he  had  known  for  certain  that  the  little  gray-eyed 
girl  of  the  gaming  days  was  an  integral  part  of  his  being, 
that  when  years  before  he  had  urged  his  mother  to  look 
her  up  at  the  Argushes  and  explain  away  her  misunder- 
standing, he  had  urged  it  in  the  hope  that  she  would  come 
again  to  their  home,  for  he  had  missed  her  greatly ;  and 
that  when  word  came  later  from  the  Argushes  of  her 
disappearance,  his  scanning  of  remote  corners  of  the  tene- 
ment halls  for  a  letter  from  her  which  the  careless  letter- 
carrier  must  certainly  have  misplaced,  was  from  a  feeling 
deep,  deep-rooted. 

She  sighed  as  she  looked  up  at  the  dear  averted  face, 
every  line  of  which  told  of  the  soul  within,  the  soul 
which  she  had  loved  in  Mr.  Grave's  shell.  She  leaned 
her  head  lightly  against  his  shoulder.  .  .  .  She  was  be- 
trothed to  this  man,  this  man  of  real  heart  and  mind  and 
soul,  this  man  who  was  the  answer  to  the  deepest  call  of 
her  being.  How  she  loved  him !  Her  life,  her  devotion, 
her  everything  would  be  dedicated  to  him.  He  would 
grow  better  in  the  Alkrusht  Sanitarium.  She  needed 
nothing  for  herself,  everything,  every  bit  of  everything 
would  go  to  him,  to  bring  the  normal  color  to  his  cheeks, 
to  reduce  the  feverish  glitter  of  his  dear  eyes — to  save 

him Next  spring  all  would  be  well.  It  would  be 

just  such  a  day  of  burgeoning  when  they  would  go  to  a 
little  home  of  their  own — they  would  live  where  there 
was  a  lovely  landscape — she  would  keep  him  in  the  sun- 
shine— there  would  be  sunshine  everywhere 

"Saranac!    Saranac!"  called  the  conductor. 


LIX 


In  the  mournful  glamour  of  the  reds  and  yellows  of 
decaying  nature*  Minnie  walking  alone  where  she  and 


472  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Gregory  had  walked  before,  sitting  alone  where  she  and 
Gregory  had  sat  before,  her  great  gray  eyes  searching 
vacancy,  made  a  dejected,  listless  figure.  One  day  Dr. 
Judson  called  her  to  his  private  office. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  "won't  you  try  to  rouse  yourself, 
to  cry,  to  let  loose  ?  It  would  do  you  so  much  good." 

"I  can't." 

"Then  make  a  change,  seek  something  new,  go  home 
to  your  people,  your  old  friends.  It  will  take  you  away 
from  your  grief." 

Take  her  away  from  her  grief !  As  if  her  grief  could 
be  left  behind,  as  if  the  emptiness  of  the  world  would  not 
follow  her  elsewhere !  A  sigh  mingled  with  a  wan  smile 
of  appreciation. 

"You  are  very  good.  But  won't  you  let  me  stay  here  ? 
I  would  so  much  rather." 

"Certainly.  Yes,  indeed.  I'm  mighty  glad  to  have 
you ;  I  was  thinking  of  what  might  be  best  for  you" 

"It's  best  for  me  to  stay." 

****** 

Minnie's  soul  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  memories  of 
Gregory  flowered  into  the  beauty  of  its  promise.  Not  a 
thought,  not  a  feeling  of  hers  was  apart  from  his  in- 
fluence. Big  in  mind,  vast  in  spirit,  with  a  thorough  com- 
prehension of  men  and  things,  alive  to  weaknesses,  tol- 
erant, with  a  heart  of  love  and  with  a  tempering  sanity, 
he  had  raised  Minnie  to  the  standard  to  which  she  had 
blindly,  unknowingly  reached  out.  The  world  was  no 
longer  the  same  to  her,  nor  were  things,  nor  were  people. 
What  had  seemed  vice,  now  in  the  illumination  of  Greg- 
ory's tolerance  and  love,  was  mere  involuntary  fault,  sel- 
fishness a  mere  weapon  of  defense  in  the  ugly  competi- 
tive game ;  "slickness"  Gregory  had  called  it  with  tolerant 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  473 

pity.  .  .  .    Behind  Abraham's  pedantry  and  arbitrariness, 
likewise,  he  had  discerned  a  fine,  upright,  trustworthy 
man;    once   even    he   had    said    of   him,    more    serious 
than  she  had  taken  it,  that  he  would   feel  easy  with 
her  in   Abraham's   care   if  he  could   not  himself   take 
care  of  her.  .  .  .     Through  association  with  this  man, 
who   combined   profound    human    insight   with   his    in- 
tellectuality,   she   saw   her   old    self    now   as   Abraham 
must   have    seen   her — a   creature    whose    intellect    and 
Heart  had  wanted  to  branch  like  a  wild  plant  and  had 
recoiled  from  attempts  at  pruning.    Where  Abraham  had 
failed  to  make  her  understand,  Gregory  had  succeeded; 
but  Gregory's  success  gave  her  sympathy  with  Abraham's 
attempts.  .  .  .  She  began  to  wonder  how,  with  her  ma- 
turer  understanding,  she  would  now  get  along  with  her 
family,  to  whom  her  thoughts  also  began  to  turn.    Was 
her  mother  doing  well  in  South  Africa?     Minnie  had 
never  approved  of  the  venture  and  was  terribly  afraid 
her  mother  might  be  suffering  again.  .  .  .  And  Beckie — 
and  Ida  and  Jacob — how  were  they  getting  on  without 
their  mother  ?    One  day,  lonely  and  longing,  she  wrote  to 
her  sisters.  A  reply  came  promptly  containing  a  history 
of  the  family's  fortunes.   Sarah  had  left  for  Africa,  and 
Jacob,  to  help  maintain  the  home,  which  otherwise  would 
have  had  to  be  broken  up,  had  returned  to  live  with  his 
sisters.     For  some  time  the  arrangement  worked  well ; 
then  Jacob  bolted.    Sick  of  school-teaching  and  satisfied 
that  in  this  age  of  woman's  equality  with  man  his  sisters 
could  shift  for  themselves,  he  had  gone  off  on  a  trip  .to 
Europe  for  a  change  from  the  daily  grind.     The  girls 
could  not  keep  up  the  home  and  were  just  deciding  to 
store  the  furniture  against  their  mother's  return    (they 
were  sure  she  would  return ;  and  a  nice  big  bill  for  stor- 


474  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

age  she  would  have  to  meet!)  when  Minnie's  letter  ar- 
rived. Minnie  ought  to  come  back  and  help  keep  up  the 
home  and  shoulder  her  responsibility  "for  once." 

Minnie  did.  And  Abraham  was  convinced  that  she 
was  at  last  coming  to  the  normal  sense  of  normal  people, 
though  at  the  same  time  a  resentful  feeling  was  blown 
into  flame  that  Minnie  never  could  be  convinced  until  the 
bitter  end  was  reached. 


LX 


Beckie  and  Ida  were  still  the  same,  squabbling  over 
trifles,  loving  in  their  crude  fashion,  agreeable  and  dis- 
agreeable in  their  simple  way.  Curious  as  to  the  change 
in  Minnie,  they  often  remarked  to  each  other  on  her 
gravity,  her  softness  and  poise,  in  smiling  whispers  be- 
hind her  back  though  there  was  that  about  her  personality 
which  in  her  presence  compelled  respect  and  convinced 
them  of  her  sincerity.  Outlets  for  their  disrespectfulness 
were  confined  to  healthy  discharges  upon  each  other. 

The  two  younger  girls  had  a  natural  family  affection 
for  each  other,  while  for  Minnie  even  Beckie  had  only  a 
tempered  love  and  Ida  none  at  all.  They  felt  constrained 
with  her  as  with  a  stranger. 

After  a  while,  with  closer  and  more  familiar  associa- 
tion, they  began  to  suspect  her  of  affectation,  resenting 
her  new  ways  as  Sarah's  neighbors  had  resented  her 
aloofness.  Ida  particularly,  whose  ideal  henceforth  be- 
came ultra-simplicity  of  manner,  felt  contempt  for  her 
sister  for  "putting  on  airs"  and  in  counter-distinction  be- 
gan to  cultivate  an  exaggeratedly  Yiddish  inflection  and 
a  louder  voice,  and  abstained  from  the  commonest  shows 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  475 

of  politeness.  For  a  sister  to  say  "thank  you,"  "if  you 
please"  was  a  disgusting  affectation. 

Once  Minnie  called  Beckie  "dear."  That  decided  Ida. 
She  let  loose  her  pent-up  contempt.  Thenceforth  "pre- 
tender" addressed  to  Minnie  was  as  frequent  and  facile 
an  epithet  on  her  lips  as  "pig"  addressed,  on  provocation, 
to  Beckie.  Had  not  Minnie  now  had  the  balancing 
weight  of  maturity,  quarrels  might  have  ensued.  Ida's 
fire,  however,  could  not  feed  on  Minnie's  silence,  and 
her  respectful  attitude,  the  next  time  the  two  had  com- 
munication, would  quench  the  blaze  completely. 

The  home  was  lonely.  The  world  was  lonely.  Minnie 
was  grateful  for  Abraham's  visits  to  which  she  grew  to 
look  forward  eagerly.  Her  deference  and  gentleness 
rather  puzzled  him.  In  spite  of  a  desire  to  be  appreci- 
ative, he  had  an  inner  shrinking  from  this  strange  Min- 
nie. He,  too,  in  the  privacy  of  his  being,  smelt  affecta- 
tion in  her  present  agreement  with  his  opinions. 
Breathes  there  the  man  who  hankers  after  the  attain- 
able! 

LXI 

Yetta  Grubicha  was  the  chief  office  clerk  of  the  Para- 
gon Knee  Pants  Company,  which  occupied  a  loft  in  the 
same  building  as  the  firm  in  which  Minnie  was  em- 
ployed. 

Yetta  outwitted  her  destiny.  In  one  of  the  Fates' 
rare  moments  of  unwariness,  she  slipped  from  between 
their  fingers.  One  week  of  machine-operating  convinced 
her  there  was  no  prestige  in  it  and  confirmed  her  in  the 
determination  to  fight  her  mother  into  letting  her  study 
stenography. 


476  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"You  are  not  even  a  school  graduate,"  objected  her 
mother. 

"Mind  your  own  business,"  quoth  Yetta. 

Some  secretarial  school  of  light  conscience  admitted 
her  as  a  pupil  and  in  three  months'  time  turned  her  out 
a  full-fledged  stenographer.  But  she  could  not  slough 
her  inherited  strain  of  commonness  as  she  had  cast  be- 
hind her  the  work-shop.  It  jumped  to  the  light  in  her 
emphatic  clothes,  her  pretentious  friends,  and  her  adora- 
tion of  near-classics  in  music,  the  drama,  and  fiction. 

Once,  recuperating  from  an  illness,  she  spent  several 
weeks  with  her  employers  in  the  country.  Their  sister 
was  a  soft,  refined,  sweet-mannered  person,  whose  ways 
made  such  an  impression  upon  Yetta  that  ever  afterwards 
she  went  about  imitative,  putting  into  her  voice  the  oth- 
er's lingering  sweetness  of  tone  and  into  her  eyes  the 
same  gentle,  intimate  expression.  In  the  practice  of  her 
mannerisms  she  never  arrived  at  unconsciousness.  They 
never  came  quite  natural  to  her.  Those  who  had  known 
her  before  her  "conversion"  smiled  at  it,  while  her  par- 
ents scoffed  at  her  for  aspiring  to  "whole  ladyship."  It 
was  for  such  as  she  to  remain  with  tastes  befitting  her 
station.  Their  fear  was  that  she  would  refuse  to  marry 
any  man  who  was  not  a  doctor  or  a  lawyer,  to  which  class 
of  gentlemen,  as  they  understood  matters,  every  "high- 
tone  lady"  aspired.  All  they  needed,  nee!  to  complete 
their  earthly  happiness  was  to  have  an  old  maid  on  their 
hands !  As  if  they  did  not  have  worries  enough  with  all 
sorts  of  family  troubles  and  wrangles  and  an  unruly  boy 
who  had  landed  in  a  reformatory.  Yetta  resented  their 
interference.  Quarrels  arose  in  which  she  discarded  her 
veneer,  meeting  her  coarse  parents  on  a  level.  The 
oftener  they  cautioned  her  to  "stay  in  her  own  back 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  477 

yard,"  the  fiercer  became  her  defiance  and  her  longing 
and  resolution  really  to  get  herself  a  professional  man  if 
only  to  spite  them. 

She  joined  a  club  in  contemporary  drama  to  which, 
she  had  been  told,  nice  girls  belonged.  Through  nice 
girls,  she  calculated,  one  was  likely  to  meet  nice  men. 
Nor  did  she  confine  herself  for  nice  girls  to  the  class  in 
contemporary  drama.  She  ferreted  them  out  in  all  the 
walks  of  life,  and  spotting  Minnie  as  a  nice  girl  among 
the  female  employees  of  the  office  building  who  came  to 
the  women's  room,  she  made  advances  to  her.  Though 
Minnie  was  at  first  repelled  by  this  maiden  of  big  bulk 
of  bust,  dusky  skin,  and  large,  coarse  features,  Yetta's 
manners  were  so  deceptive  that  by  degrees  Minnie,  who 
had  no  feelers  out  for  guile  of  any  sort,  was  drawn  to 
her.  The  two  began  to  eat  lunch  and  walk  home  to- 
gether. 

Once  Yetta  paid  Minnie  a  visit.  She  met  Abraham. 
That  one  visit  increased  her  devotion  to  Minnie  a  thou- 
sandfold ;  and  when  at  another  visit  she  met  a  friend  of 
Abraham's,  a  Doctor  Henry  Flegal,  her  ardor  grew  so 
intense  that  it  had  to  expend  itself  in  gifts  and  treats  of 
all  sorts.  Minnie  was  reduced  to  affection  for  Yetta  and 
tears  of  gratitude.  Yetta's  visits  increased  in  number. 

By  making  Minnie  the  repository  of  intimate  confes- 
sions she  maneuvered  herself  into  her  confidence,  and 
once  she  deftly  lured  Minnie  on  to  admit  that  she  would 
be  willing  to  marry  Abraham  and  was  suffering  from 
his  present  indifference.  Minnie  blushed  and  trembled 
after  the  confession.  She  had  not  even  formulated  her 
feelings  before.  Yetta,  like  a  beckoning  finger,  had  led 
her  on  to  the  ripening  of  the  thought  in  her  mind  and  to 
the  admission.  When  Yetta  was  gone,  she  threw  herself 


478  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

on  her  bed  and  buried  her  head  in  the  pillow.  "Gregory, 
Gregory !"  she  moaned,  while  the  loneliness  and  empti- 
ness of  her  life  tore  her  spirits  to  the  core.  "I  have  noth- 
ing— nobody You  said  you  would  feel  easy  if  I 

were  in  Abraham's  care.  He  is  good — I  could  atone 
to  him  for  what  I  made  him  suffer.  What  more  does 
life  hold  with  you  gone?  Oh,  Gregory!  If  I  were  edu- 
cated, had  had  a  decent  start,  I  might  devote  myself  to 
some  big  thing,  something  outside  myself,  but  as  it  is, 
what  more  can  I  ask  for  than  the  commonplace?" 

She  sobbed  until  her  body  ached  and  then  lay  quietly 
watching  a  ray  of  the  dying  sun  playing  on  the  wall. 

LXII 

Among  the  many  convictions  at  which  the  Abraham  of 
twenty-seven  had  arrived  was  the  conviction  that  a  man 
of  clean  morals  must  marry.  He  was  of  the  philosophy 
that  man  is  history  and  it  is  only  natural  that  history  re- 
peat itself.  Everybody  said  so.  All  the  laws  pointed  that 
way.  He  took  no  advantage  of  the  license  for  promis- 
cuousness  granted  his  sex  when  the  world  began.  To  his 
moral  way  of  thinking  what  was  sauce  for  the  goose 
was  sauce  for  the  gander.  A  man  of  unchaste  morals 
had  no  right  to  exact  greater  perfection  of  a  woman. 
Abraham  was  a  just  man. 

On  the  subject  of  marriage  without  love  he  was  of  a 
twofold  opinion.  The  sanctifying  passion  was,  of  course, 
infinitely  preferable,  but  however  much  in  love  a  man 
and  woman  might  be,  if  their  temperaments  threatened 
incompatability,  by  far  the  wiser  course  for  them  to  pur- 
sue was  to  remain  apart.  Progeny  were  entitled  to  an 
harmonious  parentage.  Yet  at  the  thought  of  entering 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  479 

marriage  without  love  he  felt  a  vague  regret,  a  sadness  as 
like  an  intense  emotion  as  the  mist  is  like  the  rain.  At 
such  times,  visited  by  a  faint  melancholy,  he  would  come 
oftener  to  see  Minnie,  under  much  the  same  impulse  that 
sends  the  living  to  visit  the  graves  of  the  dead.  He  would 
talk  more  vivaciously  than  had  been  his  wont  since  her 
return  to  New  York  and  try  his  best  to  work  up  his  old 
interest  in  her.  But  she  was  not  the  same  Minnie.  She 
was  a  pleasant,  soft-mannered  young  woman,  who  now 
fully  assented  to  the  doctrine  that  "public  ownership  of 
the  means  of  production,  that  is,  the  government  owner- 
ship of  mines,  mills,  factories  and  all  public  utilities, 
would  eliminate  the  exploitation  of  one  human  being  by 
another  and  so  rid  the  world  of  the  great  evils  of  the  day, 
poverty,  child  labor,  etc."  She  was  now  as  fully  con- 
vinced as  he  that  the  Jews  should  possess  a  land  of  their 
own,  like  all  the  other  nations,  and  so  be  freed  from  soul 
oppression,  the  better  to  perpetuate  the  wonderful  quali- 
ties of  mind  and  spirit  that  kept  them,  though  persecuted 
and  scattered,  a  unit  through  the  ages.  And  most  dis- 
concertingly, she  was  now  assured  that  every  person 
ought  to  be  informed  about  the  sanctuary  of  his  soul,  his 
body.  Martin's  Human  Body  ought  to  be  widely  read. 
Abstract  reasoning  and  thinking  had  unfolded  in  her  like 
a  butterfly  within  its  cocoon. 

Her  agreeableness  irritated  Abraham  much  as  an  ultra- 
excellent  quality  in  a  first  wife  will  irritate  a  husband. 
He  would  squirm  in  his  chair ;  "affectation"  would  sound 
in  his  mind.  But  worst  of  all,  her  agreeableness  smelled 
like  a  bait.  Abraham,  like  all  men,  was  not  of  a  mind  to 
be  caught. 

Although  he  tried  to  overcome  his  increasing  indif- 
ference, he  grew  more  and  more  convinced  that  Minnie 


480  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

was  not  for  him.  .  .  .  But  "a  man  must  marry"  and 
since  the  passion  that  he  had  felt  for  Minnie  could  not 
come  to  him  again  for  another  woman,  he  would  be 
obliged  to  make  a  practical  match.  He  would  have  to 
find  a  simple,  sensible  girl,  healthy  above  all,  with  no  non- 
sense about  her.  His  sisters'  friends,  to  whom  he  now 
began  to  pay  attention,  were  nice  girls,  but  none  of  them 
had  qualities  that  seemed  to  fuse  into  a  desirable  whole. 
He  would  hold  each  up  for  mathematical  survey.  One 
had  good  sense  and  a  pleasant  manner,  but  a  foolish 
laugh.  One  had  nice  manners,  a  nice  laugh  and  was 
even  pretty,  but  looked  anemic,  as  if  she  might  have  a 
nervous  breakdown. 

Of  all  the  girls  he  knew  it  was  in  Yetta  Grubicha  that 
the  good  qualities  outweighed  the  bad.  Her  homeliness 
might  be  a  drawback,  but  upon  due  cogitation  he  decided 
that,  on  the  contrary,  it  might  be  a  virtue.  It  would  make 
her  the  more  devoted  to  him.  He  tested  her  intellectual 
capacity  by  specific  quizzing,  and  though  he  found  her 
beneath  the  standard  of  even  the  Minnie  of  old,  she  was 
always  as  eager  as  a  child  to  learn  and  listened  to  him  as 
to  an  oracle.  It  would  be  rather  pleasant,  he  concluded, 
always  to  have  her  by  his  side  to  teach.  To  be  sure  she 
irritatingly  used  "seen"  for  "saw"  and  "says"  for  "said." 
But  it  was  a  very  minor  fault,  taken  all  in  all.  Experi- 
ence with  Minnie  had  taught  that  when  a  man  is  out  on 
the  business  of  wife-hunting,  it  is  the  larger  things  that 
count.  Yetta  Grubicha  had  a  healthy  body  which  gave 
promise  of  repeated  motherhood  without  hysteria,  and 
she  had  the  second  wife's  agreeableness  that  men  always 
appreciate. 

And  Yetta,  with  native  shrewdness,  divining  Abra- 
ham's state  of  mind,  played  upon  him  at  every  oppor- 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  481 

tunity.  Insofar  as  her  obligations  to  Minnie  were  con- 
cerned, she  took  a  convenient,  clean-cut  road  to  the  con- 
clusion that  she  was  not  guilty  of  theft,  since  Abraham 
was  not  in  love  with  Minnie.  And  even  if  he  were,  mar- 
riage to-day  was  a  business.  Until  then  her  own  hori- 
zon had  kept  uncharitably  clear  of  such  "grand  chances" 
as  Abraham,  whereas  Minnie's  had  not.  Minnie  was 
likely  to  have  other  chances. 

"I'll  be  hung,"  was  her  ultimatum  to  herself,  "if  I'll  let 
foolishness  stand  in  my  way." 

To  divert  Minnie's  suspicion,  she  pretended  that  she 
spent  a  great  deal  of  time  with  Doctor  Henry  Flegal  and 
was  eloquent  in  his  praise.  And  on  the  score  of  Abra- 
ham's divulging  anything  she  rested  easy.  Men  never 
spoke  of  their  second  choice  to  their  first  choice. 

Minnie  was  successfully  put  on  the  false  scent.  With 
the  matchmaker's  instinct  present  in  every  woman,  she 
had  dreams  of  helping  her  homely  but  nice  friend  win 
the  idol  of  her  heart,  Doctor  Flegal,  and  often  puzzled 
the  gentleman  with  rhapsodies  in  eulogy  of  Yetta 
Grubicha. 

LXIII 

One  evening  Abraham,  in  a  mood  for  woman,  made  his 
way  to  Yetta's  home  on  the  chance  of  finding  her  in. 
He  walked  slowly,  as  if  giving  earnest  contemplation  to 
each  step.  It  was  not  until  he  awaited  the  response  to 
his  ring  of  the  lower  bell  that  he  realized  he  would  be 
disappointed  if  he  did  not  find  Yetta  at  home.  The 
sound  of  the  answering  click  was  a  distinct  pleasure. 

At  the  door  of  the  apartment  he  was  met,  without  his 
having  to  ring,  by  Yetta  clad  in  a  kimona  of  becoming 


482  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

red  silk.  She  had  been  preparing  for  bed  and  had  as- 
sumed it  was  one  of  the  family,  who  were  all  out,  that 
had  rung. 

Gathering  her  kimono  hastily  about  her  uncorseted 
form,  she  hesitated  an  instant,  then  sang  out  coyly : 

"I'll  run  into  my  room  and  get  dressed ;  you  go  into 
the  parlor.  I'll  be  out  in  a  minute." 

Her  heavy  hips  quivered  as  she  ran  to  her  bedroom. 
As  he  reached  the  parlor,  she  closed  the  door  separating 
the  two  rooms. 

Abraham  sat  idly  a  few  moments,  looking  from  the 
window  to  the  door  and  back  again,  and  listening  to  her 
footsteps  as  she  moved  between  the  dresser  and  the  closet. 
In  his  mind  lingered  the  picture  of  her  large,  shaking 
hips. 

Soon  she  called  out  with  a  sensuous  softness  in  her 
voice : 

"I'm  coming  soon."  She  was  wondering  excitedly,  all 
a-quiver  with  the  triumph,  what  had  brought  him.  Until 
then  he  had  announced  his  visits.  Though  the  two  were 
already  sufficiently  familiar  to  call  each  other  by  their 
first  names,  there  was  something  more  deliciously  inti- 
mate in  this  informality.  Taking  every  precaution  to 
look  her  best,  she  hesitated  between  two  dresses  and 
finally  chose  the  one  that  accentuated  the  curves  of  her 
figure. 

Abraham  cleared  his  throat  and  replied: 

"Don't  hurry." 

He  looked  toward  the  door  of  the  bedroom,  fancied 
her  partially  garbed  figure,  and  colored.  To  distract  his 
mind,  he  picked  up  a  magazine  on  the  table  and  began 
to  read;  he  raised  his  head  every  moment  at  the  sound 
of  her  footsteps  to  glance  toward  the  door  expectantly. 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  483 

At  last  she  appeared.  Smiling,  with  her  assumed  ex- 
pression of  warmth  and  intimacy,  she  crossed  the  room 
to  shake  hands.  Abraham  rose  quickly,  flushing.  An 
expanse  of  red,  purple  and  yellow  bead  embroidery, 
which  radiated  a  warmth,  drew  his  eyes  to  the  bosom  of 
her  dress.  His  mind  became  momentarily  clouded  and 
his  feet  a  trifle  unsteady.  He  controlled  himself,  and  it 
was  not  in  the  least  observable  that  he  had  undergone 
emotion. 

They  shook  hands  and  then  seated  themselves  with 
the  room's  length  between.  Yetta's  heart  was  pounding. 
And  Abraham,  though  outwardly  calm,  was  ill  at  ease. 

Yetta  said :  "I  did  not  expect  you.  I  was  thunder- 
struck when  I  seen  you." 

The  "seen"  restored  Abraham  to  equanimity.  He  felt 
the  superior  at  once.  It  gave  him  poise. 

"I  told  you  many  times  to  say  'saw,' "  he  said  with 
schoolmasterly  kindness  and  the  fluttering  droop  of  his 
eyelids. 

Yetta  colored  and  looked  appreciative,  like  a  little  girl. 
When  Abraham  tried  to  teach  her,  she  affected  a  child- 
like way  of  paying  attention. 

"Saw,"  she  repeated  coyly,  dropping  her  eyes  and 
raising  them  again  and  thrusting  her  chin  forward  as  a 
child  does  when  it  capitulates.  She  was  conscious  of 
pleasing  Abraham. 

A  moment's  silence  followed,  during  which  Abraham's 
eyes  traveled  over  the  beaded  expanse.  The  instant  Yetta 
addressed  him  again,  he  removed  his  eyes  and  turned  in 
his  chair  guiltily. 

"Have  you  been  thinking  of  me  ?"  she  asked,  proposing 
to  be  the  leader  if  need  be. 

Abraham  smiled  self-consciously.     Truth  to  tell,   he 


484  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

had  not  been  thinking  of  her  especially.  He  had  been 
thinking  rather  of  her  sex  and  to  this  he  could  not  very 
well  admit. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  replied,  still  smiling,  his  voice  and  man- 
ner betraying  discomfort. 

"What  were  you  thinking?"  she  asked,  leaning  for- 
ward so  that  the  opening  at  her  throat  brought  to  view 
the  part  between  her  breasts.  An  electric  thrill  went 
through  Abraham.  He  dropped  his  eyes,  coughed  and 
became  ultra-dignified.  But  the  exact  state  of  his  feel- 
ings were  revealed  to  the  wise  Yetta  by  the  contraction 
and  the  moisture  of  his  eyes  when  he  raised  them  again. 
She  moved  from  one  side  of  her  chair  to  the  other,  while 
she  placed  both  her  hands  upon  her  hips  and  took  a  deep 
breath,  expanding  her  chest. 

Abraham  watched  the  movement  and  frowned,  wish- 
ing he  were  not  so  conscious  of  her  that  evening.  He 
disliked  himself  in  such  a  mood.  But  it  was  this  very 
mood  in  the  smouldering  that  had  brought  him  to  her 
door.  It  was  the  same  mood  that  would  have  taken  an- 
other man  to  the  door  of  a  public  woman. 

"I've  worked  awfully  hard  to-day,"  she  said,  "I'm 
quite  tired.  I  was  going  to  bed.  We  have  ever  so  many 
orders  for  a  new  kind  of  pants  that  the  firm  is  manufac- 
turing. They  engaged  two  more  salesmen.  .  .  .  I'm 
tired,"  she  said  again,  stretching  her  hands  forward  as 
if  to  clasp  something. 

Though  Abraham  affected  interest,  he  hardly  heard 
what  she  said.  When  she  stretched  her  hands  forward, 
he  had  an  almost  overwhelming  desire  to  jump  from  his 
seat  and  meet  her  in  an  embrace. 

"Is  that  so?"  he  asked  merely  to  say  something. 

"And  last  night  I  was  up  late  in  the  contemporary 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  485 

drama  class.  Oh,  we're  getting  on  fine  there.  We're 
learning  parts  of  Shakespeare's  Macbeth"  She  waxed 
enthusiastic. 

This  really  interested  Abraham.  He  had  aspirations 
for  Yetta,  too.  Learning  appealed  to  Abraham  above 
everything  else. 

"Do  you  expect  to  become  an  actress  ?"  he  asked  face- 
tiously. 

Yetta  thought  he  was  making  fun  of  her  and  actually 
felt  a  little  hurt.  It  came  to  her  that  the  sense  of  hurt 
was  a  good  emotion  to  play  up,  and  she  met  his  look  in 
a  steady  gaze  lasting  a  moment,  the  while  bringing  tears 
to  her  eyes. 

"You're  making  fun  of  me !"  she  cried  in  a  low  voice. 

Abraham  was  stung  with  regret,  which  increased  as  she 
dropped  her  head  into  the  palms  of  her  hands.  Good- 
ness, was  she  crying?  He  jumped  quickly  from  his  chair, 
and  the  next  instant  was  by  her  side.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment she  raised  her  eyes  to  him  moist  but  smiling. 

"I'm  not  crying!"  she  said  sweetly,  shaking  her  head. 
"Silly  thing!"  she  added,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

They  remained  for  a  moment  in  that  position,  he  look- 
ing down  upon  her.  Then  he  moved  back  to  his  chair, 
picked  it  up  and  brought  it  close  to  hers. 

His  sudden  nearness  so  overwhelmed  Yetta  that  she 
craved  his  embrace,  whether  he  meant  to  propose  to  her 
or  not.  From  the  intensity  of  her  feeling  she  was  silent. 
He,  too,  was  silent. 

Finally  he  laid  his  hand  in  her  lap.  She  raised  it  and 
land  it  on  the  arm  of  her  chair.  He  was  puzzled.  It 
reached  him  hazily  that  she  was  as  much  aquiver  as  he, 
but  this  slightly  repellant  action  daunted  his  assurance. 
Manlike,  however,  he  immediately  did  the  same  thing 


486  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

over  again.  This  time  Yetta  raised  his  hand  from  her 
lap,  but  allowed  it  to  rest  in  her  hand.  They  sat  in  si- 
lence, each  full  of  emotion.  He  fondled  a  ring  on  her 
finger,  a  large  gilt  ring  of  clumsy  make,  obviously  a 
man's. 

"Oh,  where  did  you  get  that?"  he  asked  as  though  out 
of  great  curiosity,  smiling  and  raising  his  clouded  eyes 
to  hers.  She  met  his  glance  only  for  a  fraction  of  a  sec- 
ond as  she  was  fearful  of  a  tell-tale  expression  in  her 
own  eyes. 

"A  gentleman  friend  of  mine  gave  it  to  me,"  she  said. 

He  did  not  hear  her.  He  was  looking  at  her  hand,  a 
shapely,  fleshy  hand,  soft  and  warm.  He  raised  it  to  his 
lips  and  kissed  it.  With  that  the  passion  eating  in  his 
blood  surged  up.  He  leaned  over.  In  the  movement  his 
hand  came  in  contact  with  the  softness  of  her  bulk  of 
bust.  He  was  stunned.  He  dropped  his  head  upon  her 
bosom,  called  her  peevishly,  pleadingly,  "Dear,"  as  if  in 
advance  to  silence  protest,  and  then  gently  brought  her 
head  down  to  meet  his.  She  led  in  a  passionate  kiss. 
They  remained  in  silent  embrace. 

She  stroked  his  scanty  hair.  "Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
sooner  ?"  she  cooed,  bringing  the  soft,  intimate  expression 
into  her  voice  and  ieyes  as  she  looked  down  upon  him, 
bending  at  the  same  time  to  kiss  his  forehead.  The  act 
stirred  a  momentary  feeling  of  sanctity  in  Abraham's 
breast.  It  was  a  mother  act.  He  warmed  to  the  mother 
in  Yetta. 

"Why  not?"  crossed  his  mind  with  melancholy  resig- 
nation. He  was  not  in  love  with  Yetta.  He  knew  it  even 
in  this  moment  of  passion ;  but  she  made  promise  of  such 
a  satisfactory  mate!  He  was  sure  that  the  girl  was  in 
love  wih  him.  He  closed  his  eyes.  A  shadowy  longing 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  487 

for  Minnie  in  Yetta's  stead  crossed  his  heart.  He 
sighed.  His  life  was  not  to  be  one  of  romance.  .  .  . 
Yetta,  seeing  the  fleeting  pain  on  his  face,  bent  down 
and  kissed  his  lips  with  passion.  All  the  world  swept 
out  of  existence  for  Abraham.  Her  breast  rested  upon 
his  chest.  He  caught  her  passionately  in  his  arms  and 
pressed  her  to  him  with  all  the  recklessness  of  star- 
vation. 

LXIV 

In  South  Africa  Leopold  Pollack  met  with  a  lukewarm 
reception,  but  before  he  had  time  to  warn  Sarah,  she 
packed  up  and  went  to  join  him.  In  his  eagerness  to 
escape  possible  dependence  in  America  he  had  partially 
blinded  himself  to  the  fact  that  human  nature  is  the 
same  the  world  over  and  dependence  in  South  Africa  is 
as  little  sweet  as  elsewhere.  Leopold's  relatives,  after 
their  first  silent  amazement,  began  to  talk  among  them- 
selves. What  could  the  two  have  thought  by  coming  such 
a  distance  to  plant  themselves  sans  sufficient  funds  among 
people  who  until  then  had  been  happy  ?  Their  unfriend- 
liness, especially  after  Sarah's  arrival,  grieved  Leopold 
so  that  he  began  to  ail.  Sarah  was  alarmed  and  looked 
into  a  black  future,  yet,  with  her  eternal  love  of  life,  she 
defied  facts  again. 

"What,"  she  cried  to  Leopold  when  a  year  had  gone 
by,  "are  you  grieving  so  for?  God  mine!  So  we'll  tell 
them  to  go  to  the  devil  and  return  to  America.  We  have 
enough  for  traveling  expenses,  and  when  we  get  back 
something  will  turn  up.  If  you  make  yourself  sick  what 
will  it  avail  us  ?" 

She  cheered  and  petted  him,  and  at  times  even  worked 


488  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

herself  up  into  hopefulness.  Only  in  the  darkness  of  the 
night  would  the  actuality  stare  her  in  the  face  like  a 
grinning  skeleton.  She  would  curl  up  in  a  knot,  the  goose 
flesh  would  stand  out  on  her  skin,  and  her  tongue  and 
lips  would  grow  dry.  What  would  she  and  Leopold  go 
back  to  in  America?  In  the  daytime,  however,  she  kept 
up  a  show  of  optimism.  But  Leopold  was  not  without 
eyes  for  her  deepening  sallowness  and  loss  of  flesh. 

In  the  end  her  hopes  prevailed,  and  they  set  sail  for 
New  York.  Though  it  was  tacitly  understood  between 
them  that  they  were  not  to  go  to  the  children,  they  made 
no  plans  for  another  home,  each  too  tight  with  worry 
for  words ;  and  when  the  dock  in  New  York  was  reached 
they  exchanged  glances  of  terrified  helplessness.  Sarah, 
frenzied  by  the  sight  of  Leopold's  haggard  face,  cried 
involuntarily : 

"I  know  a  nice  two-room  house  on  Henry  Street.  Let 
us  go  there.  There  always  used  to  be  rooms.  We'll  take 
two  rooms." 

Leopold  bowed  his  head.  Like  two  pilgrims  they 
walked  silently  to  the  Henry  Street  tenement  of  Sarah's 
past.  There  were  two  rooms  vacant  on  the  ground  floor. 

As  Sarah  stood  with  Leopold  and  the  janitress  looking 
about  the  melancholy  premises,  a  ton  weight  rested  on  her 
soul.  She  pressed  the  top  of  her  head  with  one  hand 
and  bit  her  upper  lip  to  hide  its  quivering.  When  Leo- 
pold paid  a  deposit  a  groan  almost  escaped  her. 

When  they  were  alone,  assuming  a  calm  demeanor,  she 
said :  "There  must  be  a  second-hand  furniture  shop  in  the 
neighborhood ;  let's  go  out  and  buy  a  few  things." 

nni  go  alone,  you  stay  here  and  rest,"  he  said,  and 
left. 

Sarah  turned  aimlessly  about  the  empty  room,  stood  a 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  489 

moment  clenching  her  fists,  then  she  walked  with  shuf- 
fling steps  to  a  barred  window  opening  upon  the  tiny 
yard.  Blurred  visions  of  Foxy,  Minnie,  Abie,  Bubbele, 
and  Mrs.  Ratkin  passed  through  her  numbed  mind.  A 
shadow  of  Elias  ascended  through  a  rift  in  the  sky.  It 
went  up,  up,  up — and  then  was  closed  out  of  sight. 
Sarah's  eyes  dropped  upon  the  offal  litter  in  the  yard. 
She  clenched  her  fists  tighter  and  moved  hastily  to  the 
middle  of  the  room.  Her  gray  hair,  loosely  pinned,  tum- 
bled over  her  shoulders.  She  turned  her  face  upward 
between  lifted  shoulders  and  threw  out  her  hands,  palms 
open,  as  if  challenging  the  Unknown  to  explain  her  fate. 
A  groaning  figure  with  head  bowed  in  hands  crouched 
on  the  dirty,  dust-laden  floor. 

LXV 

Sarah,  and  not  Leopold,  succumbed  to  illness.  In  less 
than  a  month's  time  she  was  so  reduced  that  she  had  to 
spend  many  hours  on  the  lounge,  but  with  her  usual 
stoicism  she  denied  the  necessity  for  summoning  a  doc- 
tor, assuring  Leopold  each  day  that  she  would  be  well 
by  the  morrow. 

"Don't  you  think,"  Leopold  suggested  once  when 
Sarah  looked  particularly  ill,  "that  since  you  are  sick  we 
ought  to  let  the  children  know  we  are  here?"  Before 
putting  the  question,  he  had  considered  long  and  seri- 
ously. 

"No,  no!"  cried  Sarah  passionately.  It  had  become  a 
mania  with  her  to  keep  their  return  a  secret  from  every- 
one, especially  her  children.  They  must  not  know  of  her 
reduced  circumstances.  And  she  was  too  worn  to  give 
logical  thought  to  what  might  be  the  end  of  it  all. 


490  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Leopold  went  to  work  daily  in  a  cigarette  factory  in 
much  the  same  capacity  as  Elias,  though  the  shop  was 
spacious  and  modern.  On  his  return  home  evenings  he 
would  find  a  sick  wife  and  as  sick  a  supper  awaiting 
him. 

And  so  the  days  passed,  seemingly  leading  nowhere. 

LXVI 

Two  Sundays  went  by  without  a  visit  from  Abraham. 
Minnie  thought  he  might  not  be  well,  but  refrained  from 
writing  him  for  fear  of  appearing  indelicate.  The  next 
Sunday  a  full  hour  went  in  the  vain  expectation  that  each 
masculine  figure  on  the  street  would  prove  to  be  Abra- 
ham. 

The  next  day  at  lunch  Minnie  deliberately  asked  Yetta 
if  she  knew  whether  Abraham  was  well.  Yetta  dropped 
her  lids.  She  was  sure  he  was  well ;  Doctor  Flegal,  whom 
she  had  seen  several  times,  had  said  nothing  of  his  being 
ill.  Minnie  was  relieved.  She  had  not  noticed  that  Yetta 
spoke  too  eagerly. 

The  rest  of  the  week  Minnie  went  about  wondering 
why  it  was  that  now  when  she  was  fitted  to  be  Abraham's 
helpmate,  he  should  be  indifferent.  "Fate  delights  in 
mean  tricks,"  she  said  to  herself  in  a  dawning  perception 
of  life's  ironies. 

The  fourth  Sunday  her  sisters  exchanged  silent  smiles 
over  the  persistent  figure  at  the  window,  and  shrugged 
their  shoulders  because  of  Minnie's  lack  of  pride.  When 
a  man  turns  cold,  it  was  their  belief,  a  woman  should 
congeal.  Toward  evening  Minnie  retired  to  her  room. 
When  she  reappeared,  her  eyes  were  red-rimmed.  She 
was  lonely,  her  heart  was  heavy.  She  wanted  something 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  491 

to  live  for,  somebody  to  mean  something  to  her,  some- 
body to  mean  something  to.  Life  was  barren,  empty. 
"Gregory,  oh,  Gregory!"  she  cried  within  herself. 

After  one  more  long  vigil  by  the  window  on  the  fol- 
lowing Sunday,  her  heart  was  convulsed  with  forebod- 
ings. "Can  it  be  that  Abraham  is  in  love  with  someone 
else?" 

He  had  written:  "You  may  steal,  kill,  make  yourself 
detestable  in  my  eyes,  I  will  love  you."  She  felt  a  mo- 
ment's peace. 

"Then  why  has  he  stayed  away  so  long  ?  He  never  did 
it  before."  A  dark  shadow  was  on  her  heart. 

"Wait  until  you  get  well  and  then  we  will  talk  the 
whole  thing  over,"  he  had  said  on  the  New  Jersey  hill. 

"He  is  honorable ;  he  would  not  go  back  on  his  word." 

The  next  morning  she  rose  in  a  stupor  from  a  torment 
of  nightmares.  On  her  way  to  work  she  decided  she 
would  take  Yetta  into  her  confidence. 

As  she  entered  the  office  the  telephone  bell  rang.  She 
took  the  receiver  off  the  hook. 

"Is  that  you,  Minnie?"  came  Yetta's  voice. 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  simply  couldn't  wait  till  lunch  to  tell  you  a 
perfectly  wonderful  piece  of  news." 

A  dramatic  pause,  during  which  Minnie's  intuitions 
leapt  to  the  truth. 

Time  for  dramatic  suspense  to  be  up,  came  the  an- 
nouncement. 

"Abraham  Ratkin  and  I  are  going  to  be  married." 

A  sickening  quiver  rent  Minnie.  She  was  paralyzed. 
In  a  daze,  she  hung  up  the  receiver  and  stood  stark.  Her 
hand  went  quickly  to  her  throat,  feeling  its  outline. 
Then  a  sort  of  panting  indignation  pervaded  her.  In  a 


492  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

moment  others  came  into  the  office  and  she  braced  her- 
self and  set  to  work.  ...  It  was  impossible  to  accom- 
plish a  thing.  "She  deceived  me,  she  deliberately  falsi- 
fied!" The  inconceivable  effrontery  thrust  itself  in  the 
way  of  every  other  thought.  .  .  . 

Minnie's  ashen  face  was  plea  sufficient  for  her  em- 
ployer to  let  her  off  early  in  the  morning. 

At  home  the  thoughts  throbbed  on  and  on,  and  a  flood 
of  driving  emotions  racked  her.  She  was  thrust  out, 
and  the  stranger  Yetta  Grubicha  occupied  her  place  with 
Abie  of  her  childhood  days!  .  .  .  She  saw  herself  mak- 
ing confidences  to  a  trusted  friend,  then  saw  the  same 
friend  a  traitor.  When  she  saw  the  one  she  could  not 
believe  in  the  other.  She  was  jerked  sickeningly  by  al- 
ternate belief  and  disbelief.  It  was  a  revelation  of  mean- 
ness and  ugliness  that  did  not  reveal  but  blinded  and 
stunned  and  sickened.  And  that  Abraham  should  have 
failed  to  adhere  to  his  promise  to  talk  it  all  over  when 
she  got  well,  and  love  her  even  if  she  stole,  killed  or 
made  herself  detestable  in  his  eyes  seemed  incredible. 
She  felt  herself  in  a  world  of  unreal  beings. 

Finally,  in  a  revulsion  from  this  mood,  her  mind 
groped  its  way  upward  out  of  the  slime.  She  felt  herself 
lifted  in  Gregory's  arms  to  his  heaven.  She  was  not 
meant  for  Abraham.  She  belonged  to  Gregory's  memory. 
It  was  for  her  to  live  a  life  outside  herself.  Though  she 
was  unfitted  for  a  part  in  the  big  things  to  be  done  in  the 
world,  she  could  live  big  in  spirit,  step  aside,  as  it  were, 
and  let  him  who  would  rush,  hustle,  bustle  over  the  ruin 
of  others  to  their  success.  She  was  meant  to  live  within ; 
to  dream  of  what  might  have  been  and  worship  what  had 
teen.  Sighing,  with  a  dull,  corroding  ache  in  her  heart, 
she  rose  and  wrote  Yetta  asking  her  not  to  misconstrue 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  493 

her  odd  behavior  at  the  telephone.  "I  wish  you  happi- 
ness," she  ended,  "and  though  for  me  just  now  it  is  as  if 
the  light  of  the  world  has  gone  out,  I  am  sure  I  will  soon 
be  myself  again." 

But  she  was  not  convinced  of  it.  Something  within 
was  dead — no,  dying — and  it  raised  a  piercing,  pleading 
cry :  "Abraham,  oh,  Abraham,  now  when  I  long  to  make 
you  happy !" 

LXVII 

Minnie's  letter  put  Yetta,  against  her  practical  sense, 
through  a  period  of  pious  reflection.  She  was  certain 
that  even  though  Minnie  had  "played  up,"  she  held  a 
pretty  caustic  opinion  of  her  in  reserve.  Yetta  would 
have  preferred  attack.  The  tables  of  baseness,  treachery, 
cruelty,  could  then  have  been  turned  upon  Minnie,  while 
Yetta  could  have  lashed  herself  into  a  fine  frenzy  of 
anger  to  nullify  her  sense  of  guilt.  As  it  was,  she  had 
a  superstitious  dread  of  punishment  in  some  form  or 
other;  she  trod  timidly  as  if  to  hide  from  the  watchful 
eyes  of  the  Fates. 

When  Abraham  came  in  the  evening,  she  rose  from 
her  seat  at  the  window  with  a  start  as  if  awakened  from 
a  trance.  She  went  toward  him  languidly,  kissed  him 
passionately  on  the  lips  and  let  the  tears  gather  in  her 
eyes. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Abraham  asked  at  once  in  con- 
cern. She  turned  her  head  away,  began  a  sigh  and  as  if 
becoming  conscious  of  it  cut  it  short.  She  moved  lan- 
guidly toward  the  window.  "What  is  it,  dear?"  he  re- 
peated, in  alarm,  following  her.  Something  must  be  very 
wrong,  he  believed  in  his  sincerity,  if  Yetta  was  so  dis- 


494  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

tressed.  She  sank  into  her  chair  and  turned  her  head 
to  the  window.  He  stood  beside  her  while  removing 
his  hat  and  coat. 

"I'll  take  them,"  she  said  languidly,  holding  her  hand 
out  gracefully  for  his  garments  and  half  rising  in  readi- 
ness for  service. 

He  held  her  off  with  "I'll  do  it  myself,"  and  laid  the 
things  down  on  a  chair ;  then  he  seated  himself  beside  her, 
bent  forward,  took  her  hand,  and  insisted,  this  time  im- 
peratively, upon  knowing  what  was  the  trouble. 

Yetta  turned  liquid  eyes  upon  him  pleadingly.  He 
inferred  she  did  not  wish  to  be  questioned  and  so  sat  si- 
lently holding  her  hand.  She  turned  her  eyes  away  again. 
With  the  cunning  that  in  vulgar  yet  aspiring  natures  re- 
places genuineness,  she  assumed  all  the  outer  manifesta- 
tions of  an  inward  struggle.  She  sighed  and  quivered 
and  palpitated. 

Abraham's  heart  was  genuinely  wrung. 

"What  is  it?    Please  tell  me,  I  beg  you,"  he  pleaded. 

She  dropped  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  He  took  her  in 
his  arms.  She  broke  into  gentle  Weeping,  by  degrees 
working  herself  up  into  real  unhappiness. 

"I  am  so  miserable !" 

"Miserable?"  Abraham  cried.  It  was  a  ruthless  pluck 
at  his  man's  pride.  He  thought  somehow  he  was  the 
cause.  Divining  his  suspicion  she  hastened  to  allay  it. 

"I  had  a  dreadful  letter  from  Minnie." 

He  bit  his  lips.  The  mention  of  Minnie's  name  cast  a 
blight.  He  was  irritated.  Yetta  nestled  her  head  more 
lovingly  on  his  shoulder.  She  languished  and  she  sighed 
according  to  all  the  rules  of  contemporary  drama.  And 
the  more  marked  Yetta's  distress,  the  more  Abraham 
was  upset  and  the  angrier  he  grew  at  Minnie.  He  sup- 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  495 

posed  her  letter  had  been  offensive  and  abusive.  Dis- 
gust with  the  Minnie  he  had  been  deceived  in  mounted 
by  rapid  degrees. 

"Don't  take  it  so  hard,"  he  coaxed,  his  whole  body  quiv- 
ering. 

In  time  Yetta's  emotion  subsided,  and  it  was  possible 
to  hold  smooth  converse. 

Abraham  asked  to  see  the  letter.  Yetta  had  destroyed 
it.  Just  as  well,  Abraham  concluded.  He  told  Yetta  she 
should  not  reply,  nor,  for  that  matter,  should  either  of 
them  have  anything  more  to  do  with  Minnie.  With  the 
inexorableness  with  which  a  surgeon  performs  an  am- 
putation, they  should  remove  Minnie  from  their  lives  so 
as  to  leave  their  matrimonial  platform  clear  of  all  en- 
cumbrances. 

"You  know  best,  dear,"  Yetta  acceded,  cuddling  up  to 
him. 

A  prayer  of  gratitude  went  up  from  Abraham's  heart. 
This  woman  that  God  had  given  him  was  so  amenable, 
so  gentle,  so  good. 


LXVIII 

Though  Sarah  was  merciless  with  herself  in  endeavor- 
ing to  overcome  her  weakness,  her  spirit  was  unable  to 
buoy  up  her  body.  Every  day  it  came  harder  to  her  to 
go  through  with  her  meager  household  tasks.  Yet  she 
made  no  moan,  bowing  her  head  like  a  horse  in  a  storm. 

Only  her  rnind  went  on  tirelessly. 

"Is  my  life  coming  to  an  end?  What  is  life?  Who 
has  the  say  over  it?  Surely  not  the  individual.  Where 


496  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

does  it  lead  to  ?  Is  it  meant  as  a  game  or  a  lesson  or  a 
joke?  ...  I  have  toiled  with  my  very  marrow  up  a  very 
mountain  to  be  rid  of  poverty ;  with  my  blood  I  watered 
the  ground  for  my  children  to  grow  in  more  easily  than 
I,  and  now,  through  no  neglect  of  mine  or  my  children's, 
I  am  ruthlessly  plucked  and  returned  to  the  rotten  soil 
of  poverty  to  decay.  I  am  no  longer  fit  to  make  a  strug- 
gle. Whoever  the  evil  perpetrator  of  my  fate  is,  he  has 
won.  Where  is  the  justice?  Whose  is  the  guilt?  I  am 
broken,  wholly  broken.  And  so  is  Leopold.  And  how 
much  more  than  a  hair's  breadth  divides  my  children 
from  my  very  fate !" 

Her  children  lived  in  her  as  mere  memories.  She 
mourned  as  though  they  could  never  be  restored  to  her. 
Time  and  again  she  worried  with  a  new  sort  of  worry,  a 
worry  bereft  of  all  poignancy  and  yet  deep  as  her  being, 
whether  they  had  been  comfortable  while  she  was  in 
South  Africa.  She  had  learned  from  Beckie  and  Ida  that 
Minnie  had  come  home  to  live,  and  her  conscience  smote 
her.  She  scourged  herself  for  having  misjudged  the  girl, 
and  looked  back  upon  her  period  of  violent  indignation 
as  though  it  had  been  a  spell  of  insanity.  She  could 
hardly  believe  she  had  ever  been  capable  of  it.  "She 
was  sick ;  I  was  concerned  only  about  myself.  I've  been 
a  bad  mother,  a  bad  mother."  She  wrung  her  yellowish 
hands  in  abject  desolation,  and  felt  herself  a  stranger  to 
the  old  Sarah.  The  new  Sarah  knew  no  grudges,  no 
malice.  Recollections  of  the  children  each  in  turn  as 
little  ones  with  their  individual  wiles  and  pranks  would 
contract  her  heart  with  pain.  Now  Minnie  was  refusing 
to  go  steal  a  band  from  Mira;  now  she  was  helping  to 
plu'ck  chickens;  now  she  was  doing  washing,  scrubbing 
floors,  tying  Bubbele's  shoe  laces.  "She  was  a  golden 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  497 

child.  God  grant  her  better  luck  than  her  mother  has 
had,"  Sarah  would  moan  to  herself  as,  shuddering,  she 
would  look  about  the  two  grimy  rooms  that  everywhere 
smelt  of  decay — of  the  end  of  all. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

Minnie,  for  all  her  resignation  and  for  all  that  she  had 
written  to  Yetta,  went  about  with  the  peculiar  feeling 
that  the  inevitable  would  somehow  be  forestalled.  The 
more  she  thought  of  it  the  more  incredible  it  seemed  that 
Abraham  who  had  loved  her  so  should  so  unceremoni- 
ously have  discarded  her  for  one  as  different  from  her- 
self as  Yetta  Grubicha.  Every  day  she  expected  a  letter 
which  would  eradicate  the  whole  affair  as  a  misunder- 
standing. But  the  letter  never  came,  and  Minnie  began 
to  feel  a  peculiar  shrinking  from  life,  an  unwholesome- 
ness  about  life,  as  if  it  were  ill  with  a  malignant  disease. 

One  day  coming  down  the  lobby  of  the  office  building 
Minnie  saw  Yetta  and  Abraham  standing  at  the  entrance 
door  talking.  Yetta's  eyes  met  hers.  Turning  color, 
Yetta  quickly  lowered  her  lids  and  floundered  in  the  con- 
versation. Abraham  glanced  into  the  lobby.  His  heart 
leapt  at  the  sight  of  Minnie.  By  a  gigantic  effort,  he 
continued  conversation  with  his  bride,  whose  heart,  like 
his  own,  he  knew,  palpitated  entirely  out  of  keeping  with 
their  cold-blooded  resolution  to  lop  this  disturber  from 
their  lives. 

Minnie  hesitated  for  a  fraction  of  a  second  before 
passing  them,  uncertain  that  she  rightly  discerned  their 
wish  to  ignore  her.  But  there  was  no  mistaking  their 
intention.  Choked  with  grief  and  outrage  she  fairly 
stumbled  out  on  to  the  street.  Out  of  their  sight  she 
broke  into  a  run  and  ran  and  ran  until  suddenly  she 


498  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

found  herself  lunging  into  someone.  The  conventional 
"Beg  pardon"  was  on  her  lips  when  she  felt  a  restraining 
touch  on  her  arm. 

It  was  Leopold  Pollack. 


LXIX 

Leopold  was  also  returning  from  work  and  walking 
hurriedly  with  lowered  head,  worried  by  thoughts  of 
Sarah,  whom  he  had  left  in  the  morning  feeling  partic- 
ularly sick.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  that  if  on  his  re- 
turn he  found  her  no  better,  he  would  summon  a  doctor 
and  notify  the  children.  "Since  I  am  working,"  he 
argued  with  himself,  "and,  thank  God,  making  enough 
for  the  little  we  need,  why  should  we  keep  our  presence 
a  secret?  Nonsense!" 

Minnie  and  Leopold  stood  a  moment  speechless. 

"Is  mama  back,  too?"  she  finally  asked,  her  face  pal- 
lid. 

"Yes,  dear."  There  was  a  catch  in  Leopold's  voice  and 
the  tenderness  that  comes  from  exhaustion.  "She  is 
sick — your  mother  is "  he  ended  in  a  quiver. 

A  dreadful  surmise  leapt  to  Minnie's  mind;  that  her 
mother  might  be  dying,  and  in  the  Helina  Heimath.  Her 
throat  felt  strangled.  The  words  came  thickly,  with  a 
prodigious  effort. 

"Where— where  is  she?" 

Sarah  had  not  told  Leopold  that  their  living  in  the 
Henry  Street  tenement  was  a  repetition  of  history,  and 
he  could  not  account  for  Minnie's  stare  as  he  mentioned 
the  street  and  number. 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  499 

"Mama  back  on  Henry  Street?"  Her  eyes  looked 
wild.  "Take  me  to  her,"  she  added  hoarsely. 

Sarah  was  asleep  on  a  broken  lounge  which  Leopold 
had  bought  in  the  second-hand  basement  furniture  shop 
for  ninety-five  cents.  Her  face  was  yellow  and  lined. 

Minnie  and  Leopold  walked  softly  over  and  stood  by 
her  side.  A  mad  desire  to  shout  at  the  Fates,  at  heaven 
and  God,  to  spit  in  the  face  of  all  life  almost  suffocated 
Minnie. 

"She  looks  worse  than  when  I  left  her  this  morning," 
Leopold  whispered. 

Minnie  turned  abruptly  away  and  staggered  over  to  the 
window. 

She  was  a  little  girl  again  with  Foxy  tugging  at  her 
skirts ;  Abie  assailed  her  with  "Fights."  Her  thumb  was 
in  her  mouth.  From  the  top-floor  window  Sarah  called 
"Minnie!"  She  was  back  again  in  the  present  with  a 
broken  heart  and  silent  sobs  rending  her  being. 

Sarah  stirred  on  the  broken  lounge.  She  opened  her 
eyes  and  smiled  pathetically  and  apologetically  up  at 
Leopold. 

"Are  you  home  already?"  she  asked  in  a  weak  voice. 
At  the  same  instant  she  recognized  Minnie  and  turning 
even  yellower  tried  to  raise  herself. 

"I  walked  right  into  Minnie,  Sarah,"  Leopold  explained 
hastily. 

Minnie  rushed  to  her  mother  and,  raising  her  to  a  sit- 
ting posture  in  her  arms,  dropped  down  beside  her  on 
the  edge  of  the  lounge.  Sarah,  dazed,  could  not  say  a 
word.  Leopold  turned  away.  Sarah  began  to  weep. 
Minnie  lowered  her  head  on  her  mother's  shoulder  and 
also  wept. 


500  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

"Minnie,  Minnele !"  with  a  shaky  hand  Sarah  stroked 
the  girl's  hair. 

"Mama,  mama  dear !" 

Suddenly  Sarah  grew  limp  in  Minnie's  arms. 

"Mama!"  Minnie  shrieked. 

No  answer. 

An  agonized  glance  passed  between  Leopold  and  Min- 
nie. Leopold  dashed  out  for  a  doctor. 

The  room  was  dark.  In  a  frenzy  Minnie  stumbled 
about  for  the  matches.  Lighting  one,  she  applied  it  to 
the  gas  jet,  but  no  flame  came.  The  quarter  meter  had 
run  low  late  in  the  day  and  Sarah  had  not  had  the  energy 
to  go  out  and  convert  loose  change  into  the  one  coin. 
Swiftly  remembering  the  character  of  the  tenement's  gas 
service,  Minnie  dug  into  her  purse,  and  jumped  up  on 
a  chair  to  reach  the  slot. 

"Don't  you  DARE!"  came  from  Sarah,  who  had  re- 
vived and  whose  eyes  had  been  following  her  daughter. 

Minnie's  hand  jerked  and  the  coin  fell  to  the  floor. 
She  flew  to  Sarah  and  sank  down  on  her  knees  beside 
her. 

"Mama,  mama  dear." 

Sarah,  exhausted,  sank  deeper  into  the  lounge. 

Minnie  stroked  her  hair.  Regretting  her  impulsive 
show  of  indignation,  Sarah  took  the  girl's  dank  hand  in 
hers  and  fumbled  with  it  clumsily. 

"No,  no!"  she  muttered  and  paused.  "No,  it's  not 
for  you  to  give  me."  She  paused  again.  "I  was  a  bad 
mother  to  you."  She  seemed  to  be  speaking  to  herself. 
She  left  off  and  turned  her  head  to  the  wall  and  dropped 
Minnie's  hand.  In  a  moment  she  felt  again  for  the  hand  ; 
she  tightened  and  loosened  her  hold  spasmodically.  In  a 
voice  not  like  her  own,  in  a  husky,  low  voice,  with  a 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  501 

quaver  as  from  old  age,  she  brought  out :  "You  have  more 

character  in  one  of  your  little  fingers  than " 

Leopold  and  the  doctor  came  in. 

LXX 

The  three  girls  sat  up  until  midnight  discussing  their 
mother  and  Leopold. 

"They  certainly  should  not  have  squandered  all  that 
money  at  their  time  of  life.  It  took  a  fortune  to  go  to 
South  Africa,"  quoth  Ida. 

"But  I  think  it  was  because  they  were  so  afraid  of 
growing  dependent,"  said  Minnie. 

"And  what  about  now?"  demanded  Ida,  impatient  of 
Minnie's  reasoning. 

"They  didn't  foresee  this." 

"Oh,  stop  arguing,"  broke  in  Beckie.  "What  differ- 
ence does  it  make  how  it  happened?  Mama's  sick,  and 
we  ought  to  make  her  come  home.  The  idea  of  going  to 
Henry  Street  to  live!" 

All  out  of  patience,  Ida  raised  her  voice.  "But  she 
won't  come  home." 

Minnie  had  coaxed  Sarah  and  Leopold  to  return 
with  her  that  very  night.  Leopold,  for  Sarah's  sake,  was 
ready  to  do  so.  Sarah,  however,  persistently  declared 
that  now  that  the  doctor  had  seen  her  and  prescribed  she 
would  soon  be  well  and  it  would  be  time  enough  then 
to  make  plans. 

Ida  resented  this  sudden  disturbance  of  her  peace. 
Now  that  she  might  have  used  her  earnings  wholly  for 
herself  and  breathed  freely  after  the  many  years  of  work 
and  responsibility,  this  had  to  come !  She  sulked  within 
herself  that  forever  since  childhood  it  had  been  necessary 


502  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

to  make  one  sacrifice  or  another  for  this  one  or  that  one 
of  the  family.  During  the  summer,  before  Minnie  had 
come  home,  Beckie  had  lost  her  position,  and  she  had 
wanted  Ida  to  forego  her  vacation  so  as  to  reduce  her 
own  living  expenses,  because  if  Ida  went  away,  Ida's 
weekly  contribution  would  not  be  forthcoming.  "As  if," 
Ida  had  thought  petulantly,  "one  is  not  entitled  to  live 
for  oneself!  .  .  ."  Yet  she  was  concerned  about  her 
mother.  The  great  nuisance,  however,  lay  in  the  fact  that 
concern  was  not  sufficient. 

"I  suppose  if  she  won't  come  home,  we'll  each  have  to 
chip  in  something  every  week  until  she  gets  better."  Ida 
sighed  resignedly. 

Looking  into  space,  Minnie  said:  "I'm  afraid  she 
won't  take  money  and  she  won't  come  home  either."  She 
had  the  gas  meter  incident  in  mind. 

Minnie's  notions  were  too  much  for  Ida.  "So  what 
will  she  do?"  she  exploded,  reddening  to  her  temples. 

Minnie  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

****** 

When  the  three  girls  reached  the  Henry  Street  rooms 
in  the  morning,  they  found  Leopold  at  home  ministering 
to  Sarah,  in  the  hope  that  if  he  gave  himself  up  to  her 
for  the  full  day  and  carried  out  the  doctor's  orders  punc- 
tiliously, an  immediate  cure  might  be  effected. 

Warmer  than  her  greeting  of  the  two  people  was  Ida's 
show  of  contempt  for  the  freakishness  which  had  taken 
them  again  to  the  pesty  East  Side.  "Such  an  idea !"  she 
burst  out  immediately.  She  might  have  restrained  her- 
self if  Sarah  had  made  the  miserable  picture  that  Min- 
nie had  prepared  her  for.  But  Sarah,  reacting  to  her 
pleasure  in  Leopold's  presence  and  excited  by  the  chil- 
dren's appearance,  was  flushed  and  smiling  and  looked 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  503 

rather  well.  She  cowered  imperceptibly  at  Ida's  harsh 
words.  With  the  supersensitiveness  of  the  invalid,  her 
heart:  began  to  pound  and  her  temples  to  throb.  With  a 
suppressed  gasp,  she  begged  Ida :  "Childie,  be  friendly  to 
your  mother,"  and  a  sob  escaped  her.  Ida  was  silenced 
by  a  warning  look  from  the  other  three. 

To  divert  Sarah's  attention,  Leopold  launched  upon 
their  South  African  experiences.  While  he  spoke,  Ida's 
mind  was  torn  between  pity  and  defiance.  "I  certainly 
won't  mention  coming  home  to  them  now.  As  if  I  didn't 
mean  what  I  said  for  their  own  good !  When  they  have 
a  real  home  to  go  to,  they  turn  to  this  rotten  hole !  Now 
they  can  come  if  they  want  to,  and  if  they  don't  is  nisht 
gefiddelt  so  far  as  I'm  concerned." 

When.  Leopold  had  finished,  Ida  rose  to  go.  "I'm  an 
hour  late  already  for  work,"  she  said,  seeing  her  mother's 
disappointment. 

The  three  girls  exchanged  looks.  Ida's  said  :  "I  won't." 
Beckie's  said  to  Minnie :  "You  do."  Minnie's  said :  "All 
right."  She  walked  to  her  mother  and  leaning  over  she 
said  gently :  "Ma,  we'll  get  a  carriage  and  take  you  home. 
You  can't  stay  here.  Please,  ma." 

Sarah  flushed.  She  was  annoyed  at  the  tumultuous 
beating  of  her  own  heart.  She  waved  her  hand  depre- 
catingly.  "I'll  be  well  soon  and  make  money  and  furnish 
a  home  and  then  invite  you  to  my  home."  It  was  obvious 
that  there  was  no  use  arguing  with  her.  She  was  a  rock 
of  determination. 

Ida  turned  away  disgusted.  Beckie  felt  tearful.  Min- 
nie, too,  felt  tearful.  Leopold  hung  his  head. 

When  Ida  was  going  out,  Sarah  begged  the  other  two 
not  to  let  themselves  be  detained  either :  they  might  come 
again  in  the  evening  if  they  cared  to ;  she  would  be  glad 


504  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

to  see  them.  When  Minnie  and  Beckie  kissed  her,  she 
wiped  away  tears  from  her  eyes.  Ida,  touched,  returned 
from  the  door  and  also  kissed  her  mother. 

An  hour  later  Sarah  lapsed  into  unconsciousness.  Leo- 
pold rushed  out  to  summon  the  doctor.  Soon  afterward 
Sarah  was  no  more. 

LXXI 

Bad  news  travels  fast  and  far. 

Almost  simultaneously  there  flocked  to  the  house  of 
death  all  the  relatives  Sarah  had  ever  had  in  days  happy 
and  unhappy.  And  Mira  Cohen,  too,  proprietress  of  the 
Cohen  Millinery  Bargain  House,  her  hair  Marcel-waved, 
bustled  in  breathless  with  excitement.  She  wrung  her 
hands.  She  charged  Leopold  Pollack : 

"Why,  why  didn't  you  let  me  know  ?  Woe  is  me,  why 
didn't  you  let  some  of  us  know?  Wouldn't  I  have  helped 
you?  Why  are  we  human  beings  if  not  to  help  one  an- 
other?" 

Was  it  sincere,  Minnie  wondered,  or  was  it  hypocrisy, 
or  the  dictation  of  imbecile  minds  and  shallow  hearts? 
.  .  .  What  had  Ida's  wailing  and  moaning  in  common 
with  her  hard-hearted  attitude  before  Sarah's  death? 
Minnie  looked  at  her,  recalling,  with  the  utter  amazement 
she  had  felt  at  the  time,  the  scene  when  Ida  had  learned 
of  her  mother's  death.  This  had  been  in  the  vestibule 
of  the  Henry  Street  tenement;  Ida  had  run  out  on  the 
street  as  in  a  fit  of  madness ;  had  flung  away  her  purse, 
and  torn  her  hat  from  her  head,  crying :  "Mama,  oh,  my 
mama !" 

"Ida,  Ida,  dear,  control  yourself,"  Minnie  had  begged. 

"Oh,  don't  bother  me.     Your  fancy  words  make  me 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  505 

sick.  7  want  to  cry  for  my  mother.  If  you  don't  want  to 
cry  for  yours,  don't!" 

Minnie  stared  at  the  mourners  and  shrugged  in  the 
utter  incomprehension  with  which  duplicity  inspires  the 
straightforward.  Frequently  her  eyes  traveled  to  where 
her  mother  lay,  the  humble  coffin  covered  with  a  black 
cloth,  the  lighted  candles  at  the  head. 

"What  an  end !  What  an  end !"  she  mourned,  feeling 
that  something  within  her  had  also  died. 

LXXII 

For  several  months  Minnie  and  Beckie  had  their  time 
taken  up  by  Ida,  who  succumbed  to  a  nervous  breakdown. 
Minnie  took  her  to  the  hill  in  New  Jersey  where  she 
had  recuperated  from  this  same  of  the  many  of  her  past 
blessings.  Though  Minnie  pointed  to  herself  as  a  living 
example  of  the  disease  overcome,  Ida  was  certain  that 
in  her  case  there  would  be  no  cure.  Minnie  might  have 
had  a  nervous  breakdown,  but  it  had  not  been  like  hers. 
In  time  she  recovered  and  went  back  to  work. 

Then  came  some  joy.  Beckie,  sweet  and  pretty,  was 
wooed,  was  married,  and  went  to  another  city  to  live. 

Ida  and  Minnie  decided  to  go  their  separate  ways, 
one  of  their  reasons  being  that  it  was  impossible  for  the 
two  of  them  alone  to  maintain  the  home.  Ida  took  a 
room  at  the  Young  Ladies'  Lodge.  Minnie,  averse  to  a 
repetition  of  any  past  experiences,  chose  a  home  from  out 
of  the  newspaper  columns  of  "Boarders  Wanted." 

LXXIII 

• 

The  time  was  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening/:  the 
place  was  the  skylight  room  of  a  first-class  boarding- 


506  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

house  kept  by  a  refined  Southern  lady  in  reduced  circum- 
stances who  condescended  to  take  in  a  few  paying  guests. 
Minnie  Mendel  was  sitting  perched  on  the  top  rung  of  a 
slim  ladder  that  led  up  to  a  glass  dome  opening  on  the 
roof.  Smoke  spouting  up  hurriedly  from  a  nearby  chim- 
ney as  if  anxious  to  escape  confinement  tumbled  in  a  mass 
mingling  with  the  grayness  of  the  night. 

"It's  funny  to  have  to  climb  a  ladder  for  a  whiff  of 
air — a  funny  place  to  live  in,  a  skylight  room — a  funny 
life,"  Minnie  mused,  an  odd  mixture  of  smile  and  sigh 
playing  in  her  heart. 

The  time  had  passed  quietly.  Her  poignant  grief  at 
her  mother's  death  had  settled  into  an  even  sorrow.  And 
Abraham's  marriage  had  sunk  below  a  misty  horizon. 
Now  there  was  just  loneliness.  And  the  world  seemed 
to  hold  no  balm  for  all  the  bruises  of  the  past.  Life  be- 
came again  a  round  of  work,  eat,  sleep,  with  here  and 
there  a  snatch  of  gladness,  in  the  form  of  a  cheerful  let- 
ter from  Beckie,  a  talk  with  a  friend,  a  bit  of  music,  a 
play.  But  in  the  main  it  was  empty,  for  the  spirit  craved 
big  things  and  was  fettered  by  lack  of  training  and  op- 
portunity. Bitterness  stirred  in  her  soul  as  she  sat 
cogitative  on  the  ladder.  She  tried  to  reason  it  away 
by  telling  herself  she  was  an  infinitesimal  part  of  a 
gigantic  whole.  "But  then  I  am  a  part,"  she  argued 
on  the  side  of  bitterness.  "Without  me  there  is  no 
whole.  No  human  being  must  be  disregarded  as  if  he 
were  a  mistake.  .  .  ."  She  looked  up  and  watched  the 
gray  clouds  sail  by.  Slowly  forward  they  were  moving, 
sure  as  could  be — mama,  papa,  Foxy — Minnie  wiped  tears 
from  her  eyes.  "It's  been  a  terrific  struggle.  Mama 
climbed  about  as  high  as  this  ladder  and  they  would  not 
even  let  her  stay  there."  In  the  wake  of  her  grief  over 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  507 

her  mother  swept  a  horrible  fear.  "I  am  afraid  of  life, 
I'm  not  feeling  a  bit  well.  My  heart  pounds — pounds — 
pounds  all  the  time.  I  don't  sleep — I  don't  feel  well.  If 
I  break  down,  then  what?"  She  shuddered.  That  way 
lurked  horror.  Up  in  the  clouds  a  rift  was  made;  two 
brown  eyes  looked  into  hers.  "Slick — slick — oh,  yes,  I 
should  have  been  slick.  I  am  afraid  of  life,  of  its  ter- 
ribly sharp  edges.  I  should  have  married  money  and 
made  the  edges  dull  for  myself.  There  was  Morris  Cap- 
Ian — John  Maloney.  All  the  girls  who  are  afraid  of  the 
sharp  edges  do  it;  you  see  them  on  Seventh  Avenue,  on 
Broadway,  on  Fifth  Avenue.  They  are  afraid  of  the 
sharp  edges.  I  am  just  as  afraid,  only  I  am  not  as  slick. 
What  if  the  wedding  march  does  toll  the  knell  of  a  soul  ? 
To  live  with  a  soul  in  a  skylight  room — lovely  quarters 
for  a  soul — a  place  to  thrive  in  surely."  She  wiped  away 
tears.  From  somewhere  in  her  being  rose  the  thought : 
"A  better  way  for  all  maybe  has  miscarried :  who  knows, 
perhaps  it  will  be  restored  to  us  some  day  by  the  Mes- 
siah— papa's  Messiah."  She  smiled  and  wiped  tears 
away,  and  then  descended  from  the  ladder  because  her 
back  ached. 

The  dismalness  of  the  tiny  room  lit  by  a  puny  gas  jet 
was  too  well  attuned  to  her  melancholy;  she  put  on  her 
hat  and  went  out. 

She  walked  slowly  toward  Fifth  Avenue,  which  was 
not  far  from  her  boarding-house.  At  one  corner  the 
traffic  was  having  the  right-of-way.  She  waited. 

A  fat  gentleman  had  walked  as  fast  as  he  could  behind 
her.  When  she  stopped  he  had  a  chance  to  make  sure  of 
the  correctness  of  his  guess. 

"Well,  Miss  Mendel !  I  thought  to  myself  'that's  she,' 
but  I  wasn't  sure."  Mr.  Maloney  seemed  to  have  fed 


5o8  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

well  during1  the  years ;  his  girth  was  monumental,  the  tip 
of  his  nose  red  and  shiny,  his  eyes  murky,  his  lids  puffy, 
and  his  cheeks  bloated.  .  .  All  of  which  made  no  differ- 
ence to  Minnie.  .  .  His  voice  was  like  an  echo  of  the! 
past  that  had  held  laughter  and  fun-making. 

"Mr.  Maloney!" 

She  shook  his  hand  warmly.  He  pressed  so  hard  that 
she  cried  out.  An  old  trick  of  his,  and  an  old  way  of 
hers.  "Well,  I  see  yer  after  objecting  to  the  same  things 
yet."  It  was  on  the  tip  of  Mr.  Maloney's  Irish  tongue 
to  ask  whether  she  also  still  objected  to  "fellers"  like  him. 

"Are  ye  after  losing  anybody  ?"  he  asked  instead.  She 
was  dressed  in  black. 

"Yes,  I've  lost  my  mother."  She  dropped  her  eyes. 
"But  I've  been  out  of  mourning  a  long  time."  How  could 
she  tell  Mr.  Maloney  that  she  could  not  live  in  a  cheap 
boarding-house  with  its  smells  and  noises  and  atrocious 
food  and  boresome  company,  and  that  the  skylight  room 
of  a  first-class  house  took  so  much  of  her  salary  that  no 
margin  was  left  for  clothes;  and  though  she  hated  the 
sight  of  black  she  brushed  and  furbished  up  her  garments 
to  last  an  eternity?  The  consciousness,  however,  that  in 
spite  of  her  old  mourning  she  did  not  look  dowdy  helped 
her  meet  Mr.  Maloney's  eyes  squarely. 

"That's  too  bad,"  he  said  earnestly  and  took  note  that 
slie  looked  pinched  and  that  lines  of  age  were  visible 
around  her  nostrils  and  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  and 
she  was  not  so  pretty  any  more.  The  mirthful  twinkle 
in  her  great  gray  eyes  had  been  much  more  becoming 
than  this  wise  stare.  He  gave  a  little  cluck  and  tried  to 
suppress  a  bit  of  satisfaction  that  she  was  apparently  not 
prosperous. 

"Married?"  he  asked. 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  509 

"No." 

Another  triumph. 

"Are  you?" 

His  "no"  cast  a  ray  of  gladness  on  Minnie's  heart. 
She  was  ashamed  of  it. 

"Are  ye  bound  for  any  place  in  particular?" 

"No,  I  live  near  here  and  am  just  out  for  a  walk." 

"How  would  ye  like  to  take  in  a  movie  ?  I'm  free,  too. 

Let's  go  down  to  Forty-sec Here — there "  He 

hailed  a  taxi  and  hustled  Minnie  in  before  she  had  time 
to  accept  or  reject  his  invitation.  It  was  his  purpose  in 
thus  hailing  the  taxi  to  remind  Minnie  of  the  opportunity 
for  well-being  she  had  spurned.  His  object  lesson  was 
successful.  She  might  now,  it  crossed  her  mind,  be  roll- 
ing in  padded  cars  along  Fifth  Avenue.  She  felt  a  vague 
regret  coupled  with  a  bitterness  as  if  life  were  a  cruel 
schoolmaster  who  knew  no  bounds  in  its  chastisement  for 
disobedience. 

"How's  that  feller,  that  high-brow  feller  of  yers?"  he 
asked  when  they  were  settled  in  the  car. 

"Mr.  Ratkin  ?  Oh,  he's  married."  Flushing,  she  tried 
to  evade  his  eyes. 

What  was  the  matter  with  the  girl?  She  didn't  seem 
able  to  smile.  Been  having  a  hell  of  a  time  of  it — any- 
body could  see  that.  Mr.  Maloney  could  somehow  not 
feel  sorry. 

"Where  you  working?" 

"In  a  book  house." 

"Making  lots  of  money?" 

She  smiled  a  wistful,  tired  smile  that  went  straight 
to  Mr.  Maloney's  heart  through  the  layers  of  his  bulging 
flesh,  for  she  looked  pretty  again  at  that  moment. 

He  himself  had  been  lonely.    There  had  been  no  one 


510  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

to  make  use  of  all  the  thousands  piling  up  in  his  name. 
And  even  a  suite  of  rooms  in  a  fine  family  hotel  palls  on 
one's  spirits.  The  sufferings  of  the  heart  do  not  differ 
much,  no  matter  in  what  heart  they  are  lodged. 

"How  conies  it  yer  not  married?  Ye  were  so  popular 
like— sort " 

"How  comes  it  you're  not?"  She  interrupted  him  for 
refuge  from  her  embarrassment.  She  smiled  and  flushed. 
The  thought  that  she  was  already  an  old  maid,  that  the 
time  had  come  when  people  regarded  her  as  an  old  maid, 
as  an  unattractive,  undesirable  female,  flung  through  her 
mind  and  stung  her  to  the  quick.  She  felt  ashamed  as  if 
she  were  guilty  of  defilement.  Her  soul  reaching  out 
like  the  drowning  man  for  the  straw  caught  on  to  a  ray 
of  hope — that  Mr.  Maloney  might  ask  her  to  marry  him. 
"How  glad  I  would  be!"  her  heart  cried;  and  while  the 
finer  instinct  that  in  previous  years  had  told  her  that 
love  was  the  basis  of  marriage  raised  its  voice  even  now, 
her  instinct  for  life  submerged  it.  "Why  not?  Every- 
body does  it!"  She  grew  angry  with  herself  somehow 
for  standing  in  her  own  way. 

As  if  Mr.  Maloney  divined  her  thoughts,  he  laicf  his 
hand  on  hers.  Her  heart  began  to  beat  fast.  Though 
the  contact  was  distasteful,  she  allowed  his  hand  to  rest 
there.  "I'm  NOT  going  to  be  a  freak  any  longer.  I'm 

going  to  be  slick.  They  all  do  it — slick — Gregory " 

Her  heart  laughed  a  sardonic  laugh  as  she  smiled  en- 
couragement upon  Mr.  Maloney. 

Four  hours  later  they  were  seated  in  a  private  dining- 
room  of  a  hotel.  They  had  been  to  a  motion-picture  thea- 
ter. He  had  held  her  hand  all  through  the  performance. 
Aha,  she  was  attainable,  was  the  conclusion  John  Maloney 
had  come  to  after  very  little  thinking.  Her  price  had 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  511 

come  down.  He  was  a  winner.  .  .  .  But  he  was  an  old 
bachelor,  with  idiosyncrasies,  fixed  habits,  hard  to  get 
along  with,  and  he  really  didn't  care  to  marry.  Maybe 
she'd  meet  him  half  way.  If  she  had  come  as  far  as  she 
had,  she  would  come  farther.  There  was  every  evidence. 

He  hesitated  some  time,  however,  before  he  gathered 
the  courage  to  bend  over  to  her  side  of  the  table  and 
kiss  her.  Her  soul  shrank ;  she  gritted  her  teeth.  From 
the  tablecloth  Gregory's  brown  eyes  looked  "slick"  at 
her. 

"Now  why  can't  ye" — Mr.  Maloney  coughed — "have  a 
nice,  fine  little  apartment — a  swell  place  of  your  own; 

sport  sealskin  and  grand  clothes "  He  bobbed  his 

head — "I'm  a  rich  feller "  He  dug  one  hand  in  his 

pocket  while  he  wobbled  in  his  chair. 

Her  heart  thundered  in  her  ears. 

"I'm  too  old  to  marry — don't  ye  know — too — too" — 
he  brushed  the  air  away  with  his  hand — "set  in  my  ways." 
He  spread  his  fat  knees  farther  apart.  "But  yer  a  sen- 
sible girl  now.  I'll  do  right  by  ye "  He  coughed. 

She  stared  at  him.    What  could  he  mean  ? 

"There  ain't  much  to  this  marriage  business  anyway 
nowadays.  I'll  give  you  a  grand  salary — income — sort 

of — and  treat  you  square "  He  bent  over,  his  hreath 

coming  in  gusts  like  a  locomotive  starting  off;  A  crumb 
of  bread  was  lodged  on  his  lower  lip,  and  his  face  looked 
terribly  bloated. 

Minnie  was  still  not  sure  she  understood,  yet  she  felt 
alarmed.  The  male  in  Mr.  Maloney  rose  in  a  great  gust 
of  resolution.  This  time  she  would  not  make  sport  of 
him.  He  raised  his  voice  to  a  more  compelling  pitch. 

"That  decency  business — rot "  he  brought  out  like 

a  thick  sneeze "Look  at  ye "  He  pointed  at  her 


512  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

with  his  pudgy  hand;  "years  flying — opportunities — 
betche  ye  haven't  had  a  proposal  of  marriage  in  a  blue 
moon.  If  a  feller  like  me  offers  ye  money— comfort " 

Was  he  making  an  indecent  proposal?  He  leaned 
closer  to  her ;  she  drew  away ;  he  grew  very  red  in  the 
face  and  breathed  very  hard  while  he  looked  at  her  with 
bulging  eyes.  .  .  .  She  felt  certain  now.  A  wave  of 
humiliation  swept  upon  her.  It  was  as  if  someone  had 
slammed  a  door  in  her  face. 

"Come  on  now "  said  Mr.  Maloney,  his  fat  chest 

heaving. 

She  jumped  up  and  without  a  word  left  him  alone  in 
the  room. 


LXXIV 

The  lights  in  the  Helina  Heimath  were  turned  off  at 
nine  o'clock,  and  no  exception  was  made  when  it  wel- 
comed back  old  guests. 

The  ward  was  dark  and  quiet  except  for  an  occasional 
cough,  an  occasional  groan  and  an  occasional  call  for  the 
attendant,  who  called  back  "s-sh"  or  "shut-up"  according 
to  her  mood  of  the  moment. 

Though  she  was  tired,  sleep  would  not  come  to  Min- 
nie. She  tossed  from  side  to  side.  Then,  bethinking  her- 
self that  her  restlessness  must  disturb  her  neighbor,  she 
lay  still,  staring  out  of  the  window.  "This  is  the  'pur- 
fectly  lovely'  view  again!"  She  smiled  wistfully.  "It 
seems  dark  and  dismal  to  me.  I  guess  much  depends 
upon  the  point  of  view."  She  gave  a  fatalistic  shrug, 
shifted  her  position  and  stared  and  stared  out  upon  the 
view,  which  in  the  night  was  merged  into  one  blot  of 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  513 

black.  What  a  somersault  her  life  had  taken!  In 
ruins  lay  all  her  hopes — a  sorry  mess.  She  was  once 
more  a  bit  of  scum  of  the  earth  in  a  Human  Job-Lot 
House.  Like  her  mother  she  had  made  the  ascent  and 
the  descent.  .  .  .  Why?  Why?  The  question  tossed  in 
her  head  desperately.  But  there  seemed  to  be  no  one  to 
whom  to  put  it.  Her  heart  wound  itself  into  a  tight  knot, 
her  lips  began  to  feel  drawn  as  with  acid.  A  sense  of 
outrage  welled  up  from  the  nethermost  of  her  being. 
The  world  had  it  so  slickly  arranged  that  there  was  no 
one  to  ask,  no  one  to  challenge,  no  one  to  blame.  Her 
eyes  wandered  out  into  the  corridor  and  then  into  the 
vast  ward  opposite  where  lay  thirty  other  human  beings 
cheated  and  mangled  like  herself.  Above  them  were 
more,  below  them  were  more ;  to  the  right  and  to  the  left 

were  more.     There  were  more,  more,  more All  over 

the  world  there  were  humans,  cheated,  mangled,  like 
these,  like  herself.  Her  chest  heaved ;  her  eyes  blazed ; 
her  heart  vacillated  between  anguish  and  disgust.  "The 
host  who  make  their  march  triumphant,  trampling  us 
down  on  their  wlay,  do  so  because  we  let  them — because 
we  let  them.  We  let  them  because  we  have  not  enough 
spirit  to  rebel  effectively.  Poverty  is  a  sin — a  vice — a 
wrong — a  shame — a  disgrace  to  all  of  us  called  civilized. 
The  conditions  that  make  it  possible  must  be  hewn  down 
and  swept  away.  The  world  must  be  exterminated  or 

readjusted." 

****** 

The  morning  after  Minnie's  meeting  with  John  Ma- 
loney  the  maid  of  the  boarding-house  had  found  her  ill 
in  bed,  and  the  landlady  who  had  had  troublesome  expe- 
riences with  inmates  of  the  skylight  room  when  she  had 
been  dilatory  in  summoning  a  doctor,  now  sent  for  one 


514  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

post-haste.  The  physician,  who  saw  that  proper  care 
was  not  to  be  had  here,  despatched  Minnie  to  a  hospital 
where  her  various  symptoms  were  grouped  under  the 
dignified  designation  "endocarditis."  After  a  time,  ac- 
cording to  the  rule  of  the  institution,  she  was  to  be  trans- 
ferred to  a  place  where  patients  were  kept  for  protracted 
periods.  When  the  ward  physician  came  to  tell  her  she 
was  to  be  removed  to  the  Helina  Heimath  and  her  eyes 
looked  amazement  and  a  lividness  spread  over  her  face, 
little  did  he  suspect  that  his  whisking  her  under  the  chin 
and  calling  her  a  "scared  little  girl"  and  assuring  her  she 
would  be  "all  right"  in  the  Helina  Heimath  was  like 
holding  up  a  stick  to  stay  a  tornado.  How  could  he  pos- 
sibly have  suspected  when  a  dignified  "all  right"  said 
nothing  of  a  convulsed  heart?  Nor  had  he  looked  back 
and  seen  her  bury  her  head  in  her  pillow. 

"The  Helina  Heimath!    The  Helina  Heimath!" 
The  cry  had  broken  upon  unattending  ears. 

LXXV 

A  group  of  young  inmates  of  the  Helina  Heimath, 
gathered  in  the  corridor  on  wheel-chairs,  were  singing 
lustily :  "Those  Bells  Are  Ringing  for  Me  and  Mah  Girl." 

Minnie  was  in  her  room  alone,  staring,  thinking.  It 
was  three  months  since  she  had  come  to  the  Heimath. 
She  was  over  the  acute  stage  of  her  illness  and  could  be 
up  and  about.  Much  to  the  chagrin  of  the  good-hearted 
authorities,  however,  she  was  not  "lively."  For  instance, 
one  never  found  her  among  those  singing  in  the  corri- 
dors, and  one  never  found  her  participating  in  the  in- 
stitution's jollifications,  its  entertainments,  its  concerts, 


SARAH'S  DAUGHTER  515 

its  parties — magnanimous  treats  of  the  Ladies'  Aid  So- 
ciety, or  parties  arranged  to  punctuate  philanthropically 
the  birth  or  wedding  of  some  interested  benefactor  of 
the  Heimath.    She  was  glum,  mum,  exclusive.     She  had 
won  the  title  "pessimist"  from  the  authorities.    Whether 
they  whisked  her  under  the  chin,  or  severely  called  her  to 
task,  "pessimist"  was  always  prefixed;  and  her  pessi- 
mism, they  had  it,  was  centered  upon  her  physical  condi- 
tion; she  delved  into  minute  crevices  of  her  aches  and 
pains,  emerged  with  her  own  gloomy  diagnosis,  and  then 
brooded,  brooded,  seeing  ahead  more  disease,  worse  dis- 
ease, the  dismal,  dark  grave.  .  .  .  And  Minnie,  just  as 
she  had  known  when  she  was  a  child  that  few  could  un- 
derstand the  subtle  reasoning  by  which  she  drew  the,  to 
her,  justifiable  conclusion  that  she  was  an  orphan,  so  she 
now  knew  that  to  take  these  healthy,  wholesome  beings, 
beings  whom  life  had  met  half  way  with  its  bounty,  into 
the  secret  chambers  of  her  heart  and  soul  would  be  to 
take  them  into  a  country  in  which  they  would  not  know 
their  way,  which  they  would  declare  unfertile  for  good. 
If  she  told  them  what  was  in  her  heart,  a  suffering  in 
which  personal  tragedy  and  the  tragedy  of  mankind  were 
blended,  they  would  hear  a  voice  out  of  tune;  for  they 
were  living  in  an  harmonious  world ;  they  had  not  been 
mauled  and  smashed ;  their  hearts  were  whole,  not  broken 
into  bits,  each  of  which  ached  in  its  own  corner  for  self 
as  part  of  all  tragedy.     They  could  not  understand  the 
maternal   tremulousness   with   which   she   watched   and 
waited  for  the  promised  offspring  of  the  World  War — 
Democracy;  how  hungrily  her  eyes  devoured  the  daily 
reports ;  how  stirred  to  its  root  her  soul  was  each  mid- 
night by  the  infinitely  sorrowful  notes  of  Taps,  which 


516  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

from  a  distant  cantonment  were  wafted  across  the  dark 

expanse  into  her  open  window. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

It  was  the  day  of  a  party;  one  of  the  daughters  of  a 
Lady  of  the  Aid  Society  was  marrying.  The  inmates 
of  the  Heimath  should  share  in  the  joy.  Minnie's  dis- 
inclination to  participate  was  ruled  down  by  the  ward 
physician.  She  was  compelled  to  go. 

Long,  narrow  tables,  which  reminded  one  of  loaves  of 
stale  French  bread,  were  subdivided  into  tiny  spaces  upon 
each  of  which  was  placed  a  heavy  crockery  mug  filled 
with  mulatto-colored  coffee ;  alongside  the  mug  on  the 
oilcloth  covering  rested  a  piece  of  sponge  cake.  That  was 
the  treat.  When  it  was  devoured,  the  chic  ladies  en- 
couraged singing,  and  soon  male  and  female  voices  broke 
out  into  "Johnny  Get  Your  Gun,  Get  Your  Gun,  Get 
Your  Gun." 

Minnie  sat  listlessly  back  in  her  chair.  The  gathering 
receded.  She  felt  herself  in  a  mist.  "These  poor  ghosts," 
she  wondered  as  she  gazed  upon  the  blurred,  crippled 
images,  "do  they  realize  the  night  of  their  existence?" 
Her  eyes  lighted  unexpectedly  upon  the  exquisite  real 
lace  collar  of  a  lady  flitting  to  and  fro.  "Does  she  ever 
stop  to  think,  I  wonder,  what  tragedies  may  be  inter- 
woven in  the  pattern  of  that  collar  ?  .  .  .  No,  she  doesn't. 
If  she  did  she  would  not  take  this  party  so  seriously.  She 
would  see  that  it  sets  no  evil  right.  These  women  have 
not  their  blinds  completely  down  on  the  sufferings  of  the 
world;  they  are  better,  much  better  than  many  others. 
But  for  all  their  goodnesses  how  small  is  their  vision ! 
They  think  philanthropy  takes  the  world  a  step  forward ; 
they  feel  sorry  for  us  but  they  do  not  know  the  weal  and 
the  woe  of  mankind."  She  had  a  curious  second  of  de- 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  517 

tachment,  during  which  she  was  in  luxurious  quarters 
with  Mr.  Maloney,  and  then  clear  vision  again.  Beside 
her  stood  a  lady  jeweled,  overdressed,  with  a  fleshy  face. 
She  patted  Minnie  on  the  head. 

"Sighing  again?  Thinking  again?  Why  don't  you 
sing — sing  with  the  others  ?  Bad  girl " 

"Bad  girl — nice  girl  in  the  Helina  Heimath "  ran 

through  Minnie's  mind. 

"Emma!    Emma!"  called  this  lady  to  another. 

A  woman  dressed  in  clothes  of  tempered  elegance, 
beautiful  and  young,  gazed  round  the  room.  Her  eyes 
lighted  up  with  a  smile  of  recognition.  She  made  her 
way  between  the  tables  to  the  lady  at  Minnie's  side. 

"Tell  me,"  the  lady,  again  patting  Minnie's  head,  said 
to  the  other,  "what  shall  we  do  with  this  girl?  She 
mopes  and  mopes.  Never  livens  up.  Eh?"  she  added 
caressingly,  looking  down  into  Minnie's  upturned  eyes. 

Minnie  flushed  with  embarrassment  and  resentment. 
"Shut  up !"  ran  through  her  mind.  She  said  nothing. 

"The  other  day,"  the  lady  continued,  "I  passed  her 
room;  there  she  was  sitting  by  the  window  all  hunched 

up "     She  spoke  slowly,  with  a  rhythm,  as  if  she 

were  intoning  a  lullaby. 

"Mind  your  business !"  rushed  through  Minnie's  mind, 
while  her  heart  was  suffocated  by  distaste. 

"Reading  'Looking  Backward '  " 

"Aha,  instead  of  being  out  in  the  sunshine  and  play- 
ing with  the  other  young  ones,"  knowingly  chimed  in  the 
other,  in  a  lovely,  soft  voice.  She  smacked  her  lips,  how- 
ever, and  drew  her  face — so  that  she  looked  slick 

A  convulsive  feeling  of  rebelliousness  seemed  to  wrest 
Minnie's  soul  from  its  lodging. 

"My  redeemers!  my  mentors!    Suppose  I  should  tell 


518  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

them  that  I  don't  like  the  lines  of  their  clothes,  that  they 
vulgarly  accentuate  their  figures,  they  would  tell  me  I'm 
cheeky.  They  are  ladies — I'm  a  girl  in  tae  Heimath " 

"Oh,  Emma,"  called  a  third. 

The  twp  turned  abruptly  away.  They  would  not  have 
hurt  Minnie  for  the  world.  But  she  was  left  behind 
feeling  small,  as  insignificent  as  a  louse  in  shaggy  wool. 
She  grew  hot  and  trembly.  She  hated  life. 

When  the  summons  for  dismissal  came  a  moment 
later,  she  jumped  up  eagerly.  In  the  way  of  her  hasty 
exit  were  wheel-chairs — wheel-chairs — wheel-chairs — 
with  lame,  blind,  diseased. 

How  she  loathed  it  all !  If  she  could  have  hurled  these 
people  aside — destroyed — exterminated  them  in  one  blow, 
she  would  have  done  so.  "Fools — damn  fools !"  slapped 
against  her  brain.  "Grateful  and  ingratiating — hood- 
winked by  a  bit  here  and  a  snip  there." 

She  hurried  out  and,  disregardful  of  the  sick,  pounding 
heart,  rushed  to  her  room,  taken  by  a  burning  resolution. 
If  they  would  not  rebel,  she  would  for  herself  and  them. 
She  would  rebel  for  all  the  world's  poor — she  would  be 
poor  no  longer — she  would  refuse  docilely  to  swell  the 
number  of  the  world's  idiots — the  world's  fools 

In  her  room  she  flung  the  drawer  of  her  tiny  table 
open  and  took  out  pen,  ink  and  paper. 

"Dear  Mr.  Maloney,"  she  wrote,  "I  have  been  sick 
and  in  the  Helina  Heimath  for  six  months.  I  am  much 
better  now  and  ready  to  do  as  you  asked  me  to  if  you 
will  make  me  independent." 

With  resolute  steps  she  retraced  the  corridor  to  the 
post-box.  Her  cheeks  burned,  her  eyes,  rooted  to  the 
floor,  were  glassy  like  the  bottoms  of  bottles. 

"Mees  Mendel !"  reached  her  as  through  a  fog. 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  519 

Morris  Caplan  was  on  his  way  to  Amelia  Rubin,  dying 
of  cancer,  in  another  ward. 

LXXVI 

One  year  later  Mrs.  Ratkin's  eye  fell  upon  a  news- 
paper announcement  of  the  marriage  of  Mildred  Mendel 
to  Morris  Caplan.  She  could  have  been  knocked  over 
with  a  straw. 

Truth  to  tell,  Mildred  Mendel  had  been  much  on  Mrs. 
Ratkin's  mind,  especially  since  the  second  choice  of  her 
very  estimable  son  appealed  to  her  heart  even  less  than 
his  first  choice.  For  one  thing  Yetta  Grubicha  was  not 
a  bit  better-looking,  in  fact  not  as  good  looking  as  Mil- 
dred Mendel ;  nor  had  she  greater  wealth  to  boast  of,  nor 
did  she  hail  from  better  stock.  If  no  arrest  of  the  father 
had  occurred,  there  was  a  brother,  a  young  boy  to  be 
sure,  serving  a  term  in  a  penitentiary.  Young  or  old,  it 
was  no  point  for  boasting.  To  boot,  the  Grubichas  were 
of  Galician  stock !  Of  the  Mendels  it  could  at  least  be 
said  that  they  were  German 

During  Abraham's  and  Yetta's  short  engagement  Mrs. 
Ratkin,  as  she  observed  what  seemed  to  her  their  obvious 
incompatibility,  had  often  sighed  and  shed  tears,  but  this 
time  she  had  resolved  not  to  interfere.  She  had  suffered 
too  keenly  when  Abraham  was  going  through  the  pangs 
of  Minnie's  rejection  to  be  a  voluntary  agent  of  another 
such  experience  for  him. 

When  Mrs.  Ratkin  had  heard  of  Sarah's  death,  then 
of  Minnie's  illness,  and  later  of  Leopold  Pollack's  death 
a  few  months  after  Sarah's,  she  had  been  thrown  into  a 
state  of  great  awe.  A  superstitious  fear  overwhelmed 
her  that  the  two  dead  ones  would  intercede  with  the 


520  SARAH  AND  HER  DAUGHTER 

Deity  to  visit  disaster  upon  her  progeny.  Her  daughters 
would  remain  old  maids,  Yetta  Grubicha  would  turn  out 
to  be  a  demon  in  disguise,  she  herself  would  become  lame, 
blind,  dumb !  How  Mrs.  Ratkin  suffered  in  the  anticipa- 
tion of  this  vengeance !  Time  and  again  she  prayed  for 
forgiveness  from  the  harmless  Sarah,  and  begged  God's 
blessings  upon  the  poor  orphan  Minnie,  whose  qualities 
of  refinement,  goodness,  low-voicedness  and  especially  or- 
phanhood she  called  earnestly  to  the  good  God's  atten- 
tion. 

In  a  great  heat  of  excitement  she  cut  out  the  announce- 
ment from  the  newspaper  and,  donning  her  street  clothes, 
made  straight  for  the  home  of  her  children.  She  ar- 
rived hot,  panting  and  puffing.  Scarcely  was  the  greeting 
over,  when  she  rummaged  in  the  bosom  of  her  dress  and 
produced  the  clipping. 

"LOOK !"  she  cried  to  her  son. 

Mrs.  Ratkin  seated  herself  beside  Yetta,  who  was  hold- 
ing a  five-months'-old  daughter  on  her  lap.  Yetta  looked 
up  at  Mrs.  Ratkin's  raised  hand  and  then  at  the  tiny  slip 
and  next  at  Abraham  who  stood  some  distance  away. 
"Look  at  mother's  piece  of  paper,  dear,"  Yetta  said  to 
him.  Abraham  stepped  over  to  his  mother  and,  with  a 
smile  anticipatory  of  some  joke,  took  the  clipping  from 
her  hand.  There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  smile  on 
Abraham's  face  faded.  He  held  the  clipping  down  for 
Yetta  to  read.  Mrs.  Ratkin  transferred  her  interested 
gaze  from  Abraham  to  Yetta.  A  tiny  smile  now  played 
about  Yetta's  lips.  After  reading  the  announcement,  she 
handed  it  back  to  Mrs.  Ratkin,  and  looked  up  at  Abra- 
ham. A  glance  that  did  not  lend  itself  to  Mrs.  Ratkin's 
interpretation  passed  between  the  two.  Yetta  fingered 
thejace  yoke  of  her  baby's  dress.  In  a  low  voice  she 


SARAH'S   DAUGHTER  521 

said,  assuming  that  manner  of  hesitancy  which  was  to 
distinguish  her  remark  from  unadulterated  petty  criti- 
cism: 

"Isn't  he  the  fellow  she  used  to  call  'kike'  ?" 

A  glance  of  subtle  understanding  passed  between  hus- 
band and  wife,  and  they  leaned  closer  to  each  other. 
Abraham  stroked  Yetta's  kinky  hair,  while  a  peaceful 
feeling  of  gratitude  pervaded  his  heart  for  the  woman 
God  had  given  him. 

From  their  attitude  Mrs.  Ratkin  could  not  decide  what 
manner  of  comment  was  expected  of  her.  On  an  impulse 
and  as  a  way  out,  she  grabbed  up  the  granddaughter  from 
Yetta's  lap  and,  dancing  her  in  the  air,  burst  into  song. 
"Ei,  tiddle,  liddle,  liddle;  ei,  tiddle,  liddle,  urn,  turn." 

Yetta  clapped  her  hands.    Abraham  smiled. 


THE  END 


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